Gravity
by Sophia.H96
Summary: Gravity is the story of the gymnasts Aliya Mustafina of Russia, and Alexandra Raisman of the USA. Meeting at the 2012 Olympics, both girls are smitten, but only Aly tries to woo the reserved Russian, seeing her as a challenge to be won. Alas, no love story goes smoothly, so the two have to deal with the obstacles of long distance, disapproving friends, and rivalry. Raistafina.
1. The Approach

Her eyes panned the party crowd searching, yearning for a glimpse of the radiant smile belonging to that one brunette. The way she throws her head back in boisterous laughter, the way she glides across the room, and the way she runs her dainty fingers through that beautiful head of hair was enthralling. Just a glimpse of her would suffice. Never in her life did she imagine that she would fall for a girl, let alone an American girl. She's known, however, since the first day at the Village, that this American was different.

That day, Aliya threw her backpack on her bed as soon as she arrived at her room at the Village and walked out without a word. She didn't need her excited teammates or pushy coaches just yet. What she needed now was some quiet to collect her thoughts. It was her first day at the Village, and all she wanted was to get into the right frame of mind - calm, rational, and focused. She walked past room after room of athletes noisily jabbering on about how electrifying it was to finally reach London while snapping pictures of their compact surroundings. She hated it, she hated it all: the noise, the mindless small talk, and the insincere congratulatory remarks. Socialising, to her, was an utter waste of time. Why spend hours on end on conversations she would not remember, when she could spend the same amount of time at the gym practising? This was why Aliya is a winner. She came to London not to make friends, but to dominate. London 2012 was where she would make her comeback. London 2012 was where she would prove to the world that her injury did not define her as a gymnast. London 2012 was where she would-

Cursing silently in Russian and swearing to murder the careless idiot who had left their bags in the middle of the hallway, Aliya peeled herself off of the floor. "Oh my gosh, I am so sorry! Are you all right? Do you need ice?" Spinning around to shoot the perpetrator an icy glare, she was met with the warmest pair of eyes she had ever seen.

The girl in front of her was stunning, even with the most pathetically repentant expression she had slapped on her face. Her apologetic brown eyes, the way she twiddled her thumbs nervously and chewed at her bottom lip softened Aliya's glare. Her concern was sickening, but she was beautiful. "I'm sorry," the girl started again, as she ran her fingers through her hair sheepishly, "Are you all right?" Aliya stared at the American blankly as she shifted her weight. "Do you speak English? Are you okay?" the girl motioned a thumbs-up with her hands while flashing an alluring, albeit pitiable grin. Pathetic. Aliya looked on, desperately rummaging through her head for a reply, trying her hardest to regain her cool persona, "Yes." Yes? _Yes? _She groaned inwardly at her feeble reply.

The girl let out a loud chuckle, and that beautiful smile graced her face once more, "Oh, what a relief! I was beginning to think that you might have concussed or something. That's the thing about me, I worry too much. It would suck if you couldn't take part in the Games, and your coach and teammates would probably come slaughter me, but thank good-" Aliya watched the girl blabber, quirking an eyebrow at her never-ending speech, trying to catch up with what she was saying. "I'm rambling, aren't I?" the girl asked, flushing red once again. Aliya nodded as she waved her hand, ending the conversation and turning around to walk away. She was not here to make friends after all.

"I'm Alexandra, by the way, Alexandra Raisman. But everyone calls me Aly."_Aly. _She ran the name through her head again and again, savouring the way the girl, _Aly_, said her name_._ Aliya turned slowly to face the chatty girl, and, with a smile she couldn't suppress, muttered, "Aliya. Aliya Mustafina."

—

"Did you see the way he _killed _in the pool during practice?" she heard a familiar voice say, straining over the blare of the music.

_She's here._

Aliya's head snapped up from the cup she was holding over to the sound of the voice. _Where is she? _She told her teammate, Viktoria, that she was going to the washroom, and insisted on going alone. Of course, she was to look for the source of the angelic voice. Vika looked at her dubiously. There was something wrong with her. Why was she smiling, no, beaming, so expectantly? How uncharacteristic of her usual poised, placid demeanour. "Aliya, you have to stay with the team, or I go with you," Vika hissed, fingers wrapped around her arm and eyes locked onto her best friend. "I don't need an escort to the ladies! Need I remind you that I'm no longer eight, but eighteen?" Aliya teased, kissing Vika on the cheek as she walked away, a slight bounce in her step. There was indeed something wrong.

Prowling the room, she straightened her fitted black dress and adjusted her hair. There was no harm in looking good when meeting someone. After all, her first impression wasn't as perfect as she had hoped. _This _will show the American that she was a force to be reckoned with. She surveyed the crowd of sweaty people, cringing at the awful dancing and stale smell of cologne and sweat in the air. _Where is that stupid American?_

"No, no, I think the swimmers in general look the best!" Aliya's ears pricked at the sound of the voice, trying her best to sift it out in the noisy room. "What? Lochte? No way! Of course, Le Clos has the best body!" She turned her head to the right and saw her, the American, sitting with her team. Clutching a drink in her hand, with her dark hair falling over her shoulders, Alexandra Raisman was divine. The royal blue dress she was wearing accentuated every dip and curve on her body, highlighting her toned gymnast body. Her face was illuminated by the dancing lights, and her body shook with rapturous laughter. Her fingers brushed against the Maroney girl's back in some sort of demonstration, causing the team to erupt into laughter and Aliya to narrow her eyes. _You're not angry with the Maroney girl; you're only disgusted with their unruly behaviour. _The laughter died down as Raisman took a sip of her drink.

Taking her chance, Aliya pulled her shoulders back and approached the girl with her trademark strong, confident stride. A hush descended while the entire team looked up at their advancing competitor.

"Hello, Alexandra."


	2. Making an Impression

The sharp, steady clacking of heels seemed to cause the swarming party to be reduced to a blur. The music faded out, the lights dimmed, and even time took a step back, all for the one Aliya Mustafina. She looked ravishing in her black dress and her hair tied up into a loose bun. She walked with purpose and grace, and her every step resounded in Aly's heart. Aliya was the picture of perfection, and nothing would change that.

Truth be told, she didn't think the two got off on the right foot. Aly must have come on too strong, startling the younger girl with her enthusiasm. Perhaps she should have acknowledged her personal space, or even taken a moment to think about the fact that maybe the Russian didn't like being yelled at in English. Or perhaps the Russian really was how the media portrayed her, an Ice Queen. However, Aly knew that Aliya was nothing of the sort. What she saw was a girl so determined, so passionate, and so focused. She knew Aliya's type. She was the kind that worked herself to the bone just to see herself succeed, regardless of the sacrifices she had to make. Aliya wanted to relax, too, of course, but with her hectic schedule, how could she? Channelling her energy into gymnastics was the only thing she could do. She was fierce. She was difficult. She was a challenge. Strangely, Aly loved that.

Yes, Aly was here at London to take home the gold, but she might as well take the opportunity to make some friends as well. It would be pretty sweet to tell her friends back home that she befriended people from Ethiopia, China and Romania. As the Beatles once said, "I get by with a little help from my friends." So, she's taken it in her stride to try to be as friendly as possible without crossing the barrier of being just 'competition'.

With the nimble Russian, though, things were a little different. She was hopelessly drawn in by those eyes, and felt herself gravitating into the girl's intense pull. Aly knew from the start that she was hooked. Since Aliya rushed away after the hasty introduction, she wanted more. She wanted so much more. Just a glimpse of her wouldn't be enough; she wanted her all to herself. Gabby strode out of the room soon after Aliya's departure, "Who was _that_? Why do you look so happy?" "Aliya Mustafina, world champion, star gymnast, Russian beauty, epitome of perfection," she sighed in return, "Bringing her home will be a bonus to our gold." Aly had made up her mind that day; Aliya Mustafina will be hers.

—

The next night at the welcoming party for the athletes, Aly made sure to look her best. She wore her most flattering dress, strapped on her snazziest heels and borrowed Kyla's earrings to give her look the extra oomph. If this look didn't catch the Russian's attention, she didn't know what would. Parting her hair and looking at herself in the mirror one last time, she chanted her mantra, "You're Alexandra Raisman. You get shit done." She would change her tactic. No more playing nice, she was going all out to win her girl. Throwing her reflection a self-assuring look, she strutted out of her room to join her teammates.

—

If there's one thing Aly knew how to do, it was to make an impression. The only way she could go about doing that would be first catching the girl's attention. Inspecting the crowd and failing to locate her target, she resorted to the next best thing: her voice. "Did you see the way he _killed_ in the pool during practice?" Aly yelled, a little too loudly, over the awful rap music. "Aly, why are you yelling? We're not all deaf, you know." Jo snapped, annoyed by her best friend's tone of voice. Apparently, the long plane ride here does affect some people. Shrugging her brusque reply off, Aly continued looking. Nothing would ruin tonight. She hopped from topic to topic, praying hard that the mention of dashing male competitors would spur the young Russian to come in and sweep her off of her feet in a swift move of jealousy.

After plenty of mindless gossip, Aly grew weary. _Where is she? _Just as she was about to excuse herself to the ladies, she spotted a pair of toned, fair calves in the midst of tanned ones. _Could it be? _Sure enough, Aliya pushed her way past a pair of gyrating athletes, scowling at their actions. Aly grinned; there was no way the Russian would miss her now. In a final, bold move, she turned to face McKayla, "Then, just as I was walking into the lobby, Ryan Lochte walked past me, brushed his fingers against my back, and said 'Hi, doll.'" Her team erupted into a chorus of 'ooh's and uncontrollable laughter. _Please, just notice me now._

"Hello, Alexandra." _Jackpot. _The team had stopped their laughter, and was facing the two girls, quizzical looks on their faces and bodies straight in rapt attention. Aliya didn't falter under their intent gaze, rather, she stood poised and unperturbed. Aly beamed at the girl, set her drink down, stood up, and gave a slight wave, "Hi, Aliya." Her team started at the unexpected display of friendship, shooting both girls a look of disbelief. It was as though whatever hostilities between the competitors had vanished overnight. A Russian, a rather aloof one at that, talking to an American, their greatest rival? Absurd.

Throwing her teammates a pleading look, Aly urged, "Girls, this is Aliya, aren't you all going to say hi?" Muttering their half-hearted 'hi's and 'sup's, the team took the scene in. Thought after thought ran through their heads, but alas, they were unable to come up with an explanation as to why the _Russian _was the one to approach Aly, rather than the other way around. Aliya was the one to break the fraught silence, motioning to the bar with her hand, she stated, "Drink?" Flashing her characteristic flawless smile and heaving a sigh of relief, Aly nodded. _Yes, yes please._

As she carefully manoeuvred her way past the team's legs, she felt the familiar feeling in the pit of her stomach. No, it was not one of lust or attraction. It was the one she got when her name was announced for a final's shortlist, when she knew she had done the perfect routine, or when she'd landed impeccably. It was the one she got when she knew she would win.

She would leave London with gold medals, and the one Aliya Mustafina on her arm. If there's one thing Aly knew how to do, after all, it was to make an impression, and make an impression she will.


	3. The Long Night

The funny thing about rivalry, is that you never know where to draw the line. Amidst all the plotting and scheming, the gossip and the poisonous stares, a line might inadvertently be crossed. That's exactly what happened the moment the seemingly harmless word, 'Drink?', was uttered. It was an act of politeness, an extension of friendship even, not rivalry at all.

With that one word, she had melted her Ice Queen exterior into a runny puddle. Her rock-solid guard came crumbling down before she even opened her mouth to speak. She wasn't formidable anymore, she was vulnerable. She became like everyone else at the Games – debilitated, weak, and pathetic. She didn't reek of drive or vitality, but of negligence and inadequacy. There was no way Aliya was any different from her competitors now. She was exposed and naked, giving her competition plenty of opportunities to nip at her and take her down. After all, it was so much simpler to shut people out than to deal with their hollow well wishes and praises. It was too dangerous, but she didn't care.

In that moment, Aliya knew that she had committed a grave mistake, and that there was no going back. She knew that she had let her guard down, and gone against her coaches and teammates' expectations of her. She knew that she had betrayed even herself. But she also knew that that simple gesture felt so intoxicatingly good. She didn't care for the Olympics like she had when she first arrived, she didn't care for the glory she was to bring to Russia, she didn't care at all for her routine just yet. In that moment, she was no longer Aliya Mustafina, world champion, but she was just Aliya, a girl who wanted friendship, acceptance, and some fun. Aliya was the girl who longed for liberation and understanding. As much as she loved to push herself further, she knew that there comes a time when she needed to take a step back for a breather. She couldn't go on at full throttle for the competition all the time, she needed a break. Socialising and acting like a teenager were things she hadn't done in a while, so why not start with the American?

—-

There she was, teetering on the edge, the word hanging in the air. She felt as though all the air in the room had been sucked out, and everyone was desperately clinging on the silence, hoping for a break in it from the American. Gnawing at the inside of the cheek, Aliya surveyed the American, looking for a fleeting sign of discomfort or unease. _Please say yes, or so help me God, I will_- Aly nodded her head. _She nodded her head. _Aliya broke into a broad, satisfied smile. _She nodded her head. _Aly stepped over her teammates' legs and took Aliya's arm in hers, directing her to the bar.

_She nodded her head._

_—_

Ordering their drinks, Aly turned to Aliya, "So, how'd you like London so far?" Aliya chuckled at her clichéd conversation starter, "Good, yes. You?" "Oh, yeah, it's great." The two descended into silence one more, Aliya twirling her phone and Aly tapping at the table. Obviously, she hadn't thought her approach through. What was she thinking? Trying to make friends with people wasn't her forte, that would be more of Maria's. Of course, she did not want her first attempt at socialising to be a complete flop. Huffing out her growing frustration, Aliya frantically scanned the room for inspiration. Surely there was something, anything at all, that she could find to talk about. Unfortunately, there wasn't anything special; people were dancing, people were drinking, people were laughing, Vika was lurking- Wait, Vika was lurking?

Aliya narrowed her eyes at the mousy girl, who was currently crouched behind a sofa, and was strategically blocked by a couple that was very engaged in their much-needed 'ministrations'. Vika peered over the top of the sofa, eagerly trying to keep watch over her best friend. Aliya glowered at her, preparing to walk over to give the smaller girl a proper earful. "Order up, ladies," the bartender chimed. Turning back towards the American, she picked her drink up and offered the bartender a sweet smile. She glanced back at the sofa to discover that Vika was gone. _Shit._

"So, Aliya, how's your training coming along?" Aly quipped after taking a sip from her drink. Aliya felt the all too-familiar feeling of a barrier creeping back up at that question. _Well, wouldn't she want to know_. What gave the American the right to ask her about her training? Was she a mole for the American team? Was she looking for fault lines, no matter how minute, to exploit?"Good," she snapped, a little too bluntly. _That _would teach the American to mind her own business. She threw in a scowl for good measure. The American's gaze wavered, and Aliya nearly felt bad for being so rude to her new 'friend'. "Well, our training's going good too," she piped, recovering from the initial shock, "I mean, we just arrived and all, but it's really something that we look forward to doing. We've trained really hard back home, and I think that if we could push a little more our performance would be great! I mean, _your _team's performance will be great too, obviously, but you know, maybe we could get a tie, what do you think about that?" There she goes again with her rambling in English. Aliya sighed, nodding her head, and then resting it on her knuckles. Perhaps she had made the wrong decision after all. This would be a long night.

—

Aliya grew more frustrated as the conversation moved on. First, the American asks about her training, then, she talks about how her team is doing 'good, too', and the fact that all this was done in rapid English made Aliya more ticked off. "Aliya, hey, Aliya," the American sing-songed. Aliya's eyes snapped up to the American. How long had she been zoned out? "Are you tired? Do you need some air?" the other girl offered. Nodding her head, Aliya walked out of the crowded room, with the rather confused and slightly tipsy American in tow.

"Aliya, are you alright?" the American asked while tottering behind. Taking a deep breath to steady her volatile nerves, Aliya turned from the open window slowly to face the concerned American. Excusing the red tint she had to her cheeks, she looked so much like she did on that first day they met; so considerate, so pathetic. Nevertheless, those warm eyes struck Aliya's chords once again. Releasing a steady breath, Aliya softened her gaze. There wasn't a point in getting upset with this impossible American after all. "You always talk this much?" "Not really, only when I'm nervous," she replied, nibbling at her bottom lip. _Nervous? She gets nervous around me? _Smirking, Aliya faced the girl, "Alexandra, you have boyfriend? He, uh, tolerate your talking?" Aliya mused, cursing herself for her poor English.

Throwing her head back in that jovial laughter of hers, Aly scoffed, "No, just me. It's been just me for a while." _Oh._

"So, you only?"

"Yeah. You?"

Aliya immediately regretted asking her that question, and she turned to face the window once more, her back away from her rival, tears threatening to surface. It'd been so long since she had thought about that situation, a whole month she had gone by without a care in the world for it. Every time someone mentioned it, she had always brushed it off as a joke. Then, this American girl comes along and brings it up, and she got affected. She was with her competition, there was no way she was about to let her guard down anymore than she already had.

Releasing a cold laugh, she shook her head, "Not anymore. We had problems. He is off, somewhere else with another. He did not like for me to spend so much time at the gym, so he went." Flicking a lock of hair out of her eyes, she shrugged her shoulders and let out a small sigh. _Stop being stupid, you're in front of your competition. _Another sniff and a too sweet smile later, she collected herself and counted to ten. She could not possibly let her competition see this side of her. She would be exposing herself to the world, bare and completely defenceless. No, she would not allow that.

Regaining her composure, she faced the other girl, but was greeted with strong arms around her shoulders. Those arms showed no sign of ever wanting to let go. They seeped with the sincerity of a best friend, and provided every ounce of care they could possibly muster. Thumbs stroked at her triceps, much gentler in contrast to the vice-like grip on her shoulders. It was all too much. This stranger was showing her the sort of care she had failed to give herself in that month. This stranger, her rival, was overstepping her boundaries and being a _friend _to her. Unable to hold it in, her repressed pain flowed freely in the form of tears as the pair of arms worked their magic at smoothing the creases in her ability to trust.

Aliya felt herself melt into the American girl. She felt guarded and secure. She felt her barriers fall apart. She felt _loved_.

Facing her solace, she was met again with those alluring dark eyes. Swallowing her last doubt in the American, she leaned her head down, pressing her forehead against the other girl's. Aly tilted her head up and closed her eyes, intertwining Aliya's fingers with hers, pulling her in closer. Aliya took a hesitant step forward, watching the girl's face, searching for any sign of discomfort. She ran her fingers up the American's arm, up her back and behind her neck, holding her in place. Aly opened her eyes at the touch, and took in a sharp breath. Aliya felt the muscles beneath her fingertips jump as they danced over the expanse of skin. She could feel her skin prickling with anticipation as their eyes connected, and momentarily, she felt a pull at the pit of her stomach. Aly started to close her eyes and part her lips, causing Aliya's heart to race as the weight of the unfolding events finally settles in on her._This is it. It's happening. _Mirroring her actions, Aliya tilted her chin forward and-

"Hey, Aly. It's getting late," the Maroney girl called from the other end of the hall. _Shit. _Clamouring out of their amorous embrace, the two girls took a clumsy step away from each other. _Shit, shit, shit. _"Right, of course. I'm coming," Aly spluttered. Offering Aliya a wan smile, she turned to leave. Grabbing on to her arm, Aliya pulled the girl back, "Wait. Thank you, thank you for everything, Aly."

Aly beamed at the Russian who had finally called her by her nickname, nodded her head, and jogged to join the rest of her team.

There was a funny thing about rivalry, because you never know when you might cross the line or what that line even is, but when you finally cross it, you'd know. To Aliya Mustafina, she had crossed the line that night, and its name was Aly.


	4. The Right Frame Of Mind

**Aly's POV**

"Aly. Aly. Aly, wake up. Aly!"

Aly felt a pillow hit her square in the face just as she was about to open her eyes. Throwing the pillow to the floor and bolting upright to shoot McKayla a disdainful glare, she was met with the team standing in a row, all with moustaches scribbled on their faces. Thoughts rushed through her throbbing head as she examined the strange situation in front of her. Surely, she was still asleep. Shaking her head, she opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by Gabby, "Ooh, love." Knitting her eyebrows in confusion, she rubbed her eyes. This was probably the hangover's doing. The team struggled at trying to suppress their giggles, then Jo sang, "Ooh, lover-boy." _Shit. _"What're you doing tonight, hey boy," Kyla crooned. _Shit. _Always the one for theatrics, McKayla stepped in front, threw her arms out and practically yelled, "Set my alarm, turn on my charm-" "That's because I'm a good old-fashioned lover-boy!" the team chorused, before collapsing onto the floor in a fit of giggles.

Slapping the pillow back over her face and falling back onto the bed, Aly groaned. Whenever anyone on the team got caught doing anything remotely tender with anyone else, the rest of the team would break into Queen's 'Good Old-Fashioned Lover-Boy'. This was their team's somewhat tactless and excruciatingly embarrassing tradition. Unfortunately, this time, it was Aly's turn to be mortified. She shoved past her guffawing teammates while shielding her face in discomfort, and headed for the bathroom to freshen up. She was not looking forward to the rest of day.

—

Aly grabbed a tray and joined the long line of hungry athletes. She just needed some food to soothe her pounding head; a cup of coffee and some aspirin just wasn't enough. Grasping the time alone she had, she thought about the previous night. What had she done? Was it acceptable for her to have left Aliya standing there? What if the Russian didn't speak to her again? Should she have given Aliya a call? Did her breath smell bad? Rubbing her temples, she sighed. It simply wasn't the right time to think about these things while nursing a hangover. Besides, Aly wasn't one for hesitation or doubt. Aly was a winner. She was going to win the gold, and she was going to win her girl. She shook her head to clear her thoughts and straightened her posture. _You're Alexandra Raisman. You get shit done._

"Hello, Aly." Aly knew that familiar voice. She knew the angel that that tragically beautiful string of harmonies belonged to. She knew exactly whom it was that was making her heart flutter. She knew exactly _why_ her heart was fluttering_. She said my name. _A smile crept onto her face as that thought sank in. That smile widened when she remembered the proximity between the two the night before, and even more when she recalled what they were about to do had they not been interrupted. Thoughts of the girl's rosy lips and penetrative gaze filled her head once more. The way she wet her lips, brushed her fingertips against Aly's neck, and quirked the corner of her mouth just before she tilted her chin up caused goose-bumps to erupt all over her arms again. She remembered how the girl's perfume filled the air around her as they stood facing each other, and how much she wanted to close that already small gap between them further. Suddenly, her headache vanished as the full weight of what had almost happened the previous night descended on her. _We nearly kissed. _Aly tried her best to wipe the smile off of her face as she turned to face the taller girl, "Hey, Aliya."

Aly's breathing halted when she took in the sight before her. If there was one thing in the world she wouldn't mind looking at for the rest of her life, it would be Aliya Mustafina. She was just in her Russian tracksuit, her hair was pulled into a simple ponytail, and there wasn't a trace of make up lining her features, but she still looked lovely. She licked her lips and adjusted her ponytail just as Aly's eyes were scanning her face. Aly couldn't tear her eyes away from those lips, and the way her tongue peeked out from behind them nearly sent her into hysterics. She imagined how soft it would be running against hers, or how marvellous she would taste. She wanted, maybe even needed, a taste of the Russian, and she would set all out to get it, even if it were the last thing she does. The very thought of simply being an inch away from the girl, let alone feeling her lips pressed against hers, gave her chills. She took a deep breath to steady her hammering heart, only to notice an inkling of a smirk gracing Aliya's lips, one that quickly receded back into its hiding place the moment Aly caught it. _That bitch._

"Aly, it is your turn," Aliya said, her words laced with mockery, "Do you always not notice what is happening around you?" "Huh, I, wha-" Aly stuttered, feeling a blush creeping up from her neck. _Shit, I wasn't just staring at her, was I?_"Right, sorry, it's my turn to… To get my food, right, sorry. I was just thinking and all, not so much of anything important, really. I tend to let my mind wander, sometimes. No, I didn't mean it in a _dirty _way, I just think a lot. You know, wet- I mean, uh, daydreams and stuff. No big," she prattled in reply, mentally slapping herself for being such a mess in front of her girl. _My girl?_Rubbing her temples again, and silently chiding herself for her less than appropriate thoughts, she grabbed a bagel and a cup of yoghurt and hurried back to her table without a second glance.

—

Chucking her backpack into the locker at the changing room, Aly exhaled a long, tired breath. It was barely even lunchtime, and she had already been subjected to mortification from both her teammates and the Russian beauty. She extracted her necessary equipment and turned to place her things on the bench behind her. From the corner of her eye, she caught a horde of red and white jackets. _Really, really? _As fate really would have it, the Russian team was assigned the set of lockers next to the American team, and they had just arrived from the canteen. Obviously, karma had come to bite her in the ass, for whatever reason, and decided that it would be comedy gold to turn everything against her. Turning away from them to tie her hair into a bun, Aly was met with her team that was trying, and hopelessly failing, to stifle their laughter. _Assholes. _Cursing the fates and gathering her things, Aly saw the Russian remove her jacket and track pants. Aly didn't want to draw much attention to herself, so she tried to draw out the time she took to gather her things instead. Sneaking looks at the Russian, she couldn't help but notice that Aliya had exceedingly fantastic legs, and an ass, but that was besides the point. Aliya removed her top to reveal she was wearing a-

"Ouch!" Aly yelped, massaging the back of her head. Jo had made the best of Aly's momentary distraction and hurled a roll of sports tape at her. She felt her face get hot as the gymnasts in the changing room, the Russian included, sniggered at her. But of course, things like this would happen to _just_ her, and in front of the entire circle of women's artistic and rhythmic gymnasts, as well as her girl-to-be. Pulling the hood of her jacket over her head, Aly dashed out of the changing room, followed by her howling team.

—

"Wow, assholes," Aly cried, throwing her hands up in the air, "Way to go!" "Aw, baby, come on. It was just a joke," McKayla cooed, smoothing Aly's hair in a faux-motherly manner. Pressing her hands against the wall and pulling her legs back in a stretch, Aly rolled her eyes. To be honest, Aly didn't mind the teasing, since the girls were like family to her. What she did mind, though, was the fact that Aliya was there to witness it. Her composed persona was thrown out the window that first day, and now her humorous one was too? She must have looked like a complete prude in there, as though she couldn't take a small joke. Huffing a breath of air out, Aly closed her eyes. _You're Alexandra Raisman. You get shit done. _Opening her eyes once again, Aly clapped her hands together, getting the attention of her team, "Okay, girls, it's our first practice, but let's make the best of it anyway."

—

Aly walked into the changing room with a soaked towel draped over her shoulders. She dabbed her glistening forehead and chugged at her water bottle. Plopping down on the bench in front of her locker, she was left alone as the rest of the team and gymnasts were out practising. It wasn't like her to be sitting out during practise, but there was something off about her today. She tried her triple flip but ended up on her butt instead of feet. She attempted a front walkover on the beam but slipped. Her basics were completely out of whack, and there was no way she was in the right frame of mind just yet.

She needed to step up her game if she wanted to bag the gold. She needed the right attitude and the right mindset, but how was she to do that with the Russian gymnast on her mind? All she could envision were those mysterious eyes that held so many secrets and so much pain. Those eyes that kept her up the previous night wishing to see them properly again. Those eyes that promised a happy heartbreak, tender hostility, and comforting distress. She knew she had to make a decision between her team, her country and even herself, or the Russian. At that moment, she had picked the Russian. As she wiped frustrated tears away, she noticed a familiar figure standing by her side fiddling with a bottle. Looking up, she was met with those painfully enchanting eyes.

_Of course this would happen. _Aly shifted to the right and patted the now-empty space. Aliya sat down and offered her the bottle she was holding, "Drink?" Realising that this was a reflection of the previous night, Aly laughed, receiving the bottle and taking a sip. "Thanks, you know, even though I have mine," Aly motioned to the bottle lying at her feet. Aliya took a deep breath, "You don't look okay. You do not need break, you need reason to fight, correct?" Aly looked at her competitor, nodding her head. Aliya smiled, "I give you reason to fight. Do not fight for country, team, gold or coach. Fight for you, make yourself happy. You are a very kind girl. I like you very much, for American." Aly's eyes drifted to the floor, her smile starting to surface despite the tears. _I like you very much. _After giving Aly a quick squeeze on the shoulder, Aliya hastily got up. _She touched me._ As she walked away, she stopped short, facing Aly once again, "Tonight at coffee place, Starbucks? Nine o' clock?"

Aly broke into a grin. _Perhaps fate is kind after all._

"Yeah, cool. Nine o' clock, I'll be there."

—

Aly came to London to bag the gold, to make her country proud, to do her coaches justice, and to lead her team to victory. Now, she was going to push through the odds and fight. She wasn't going to be the underdog any longer. She was going to show the world that she was a star. She was going to fight for herself. She was going to fight for Aliya. After all, she's Alexandra Raisman, and she gets shit done.


	5. The Plan

**Aliya's POV**

Aliya stepped under the running water and closed her eyes. _Right, now, think._Willing her thoughts away from the American girl, Aliya breathed out. She had come to London to win for her country, her team and her coaches. Most importantly, she had come to win for herself. No one expected her to take home any medals at all, let alone the gold, because of her injury eighteen months before. Gymnasts and coaches worldwide were silently, but undeniably, gleeful about her injury, knowing that the reigning champion had finally met her downfall. Well, at least that was what they _thought_.

What they didn't know, however, was that Aliya was dead set on showing everyone that her ACL tear was just a minor hiccup, and nothing like that would ever get in the way of her sports career. Armed with adequate experience and the best support system, she came to the Olympics at full force, with her mind set on only one thing: to dominate.

The media may depict her as a conceited, pompous diva, but she didn't mind, because she knew that she had every right to be one. She knew that she had worked so hard at recovering and bettering herself, and she was proud of that label, because she earned it. A diva didn't become a diva without sacrificing true blood, sweat, and tears after all. An injury like that would have deterred any athlete. It would have made them lazy and complacent. In fact, it would have made them want to give it all up. But Aliya Mustafina wasn't just any athlete. She was a fighter; she was a true winner.

That was that, until the stupid American came along. She was impossible in every sense of the word, and she made Aliya's heart flutter with such infuriating fervour. Everything she did would cause Aliya to smile, her senses to go numb, and her heart to beat wildly. Her pesky babbling, infectious smile, and soul-searching eyes always hit Aliya violently and so painfully, but they always did in the right way. Aliya felt battered by the girl, and she never thought that infatuation with anyone would ever feel this restricting. What would her team say about this? Her parents? Everyone? What would they think about their star gymnast, or sensible daughter if she were to prance about canoodling with a girl? Aliya so desperately wanted to dumb this attraction down, but with Aly strutting around in plain view, and her senses tingling every time they passed each other, how could she?

Aly had thwarted Aliya's plan for a dazzling comeback. She made Aliya unfocused and infirm. She made her wall come crashing down. She made her knees go weak and her shoulders sag. She made Aliya the person she swore to never become; she made Aliya mediocre. Aliya was not as driven as she was at the start, and Aly became her prize. That's all Aliya wanted now, not the gold, silver, or bronze. She didn't even want to qualify for finals. If there's one thing she wanted, it was Alexandra Raisman of USA.

That was why she wanted to meet the girl for coffee later that evening. She needed to get back in that mindset. She wanted to meet Aly to talk, but she wasn't there to tell her she wanted it all to end, oh no. She was going to do what she did best, which was to take down the competition. This time, however, she wanted to switch things up a little. Instead of unleashing a truly terrifying wave of hostility on the American, she was going to do what she'd never done, something that she found incredibly challenging to do – be _nice_ to the competition. Aliya was going to do well at the Games, no doubt, but she was going to win with a dash of fun. She would toy with the girl, wrap her around her finger, and tug on strings to tweak things to her advantage. She would make the American vulnerable, just as she'd done to Aliya, and she would ensure that she won. She would make the American feel the way she did, and slowly reconstruct her walls. If she took this girl, her biggest competition, down, she would be sure to have the gold medal hung snugly around her neck. Aliya was going to prevail in artistic gymnastics at London 2012; there was no question about that.

Smiling to herself at her foolproof plan, Aliya stepped out of the shower and towelled herself dry.

—

"Why do you look so happy? Met a gentleman already, and on your second day too?" Maria teased as Aliya stepped out of the bathroom. Aliya loved Maria for this. She would always try her best to distract Aliya from the painful month that she'd just gone through by talking about new people. She was the charming conversationalist in the team, and had dozens of boys falling at her feet. She never paid attention to any of them, though, and had always been focused on just gymnastics and her studies. She was the one Aliya would go to whenever her then boyfriend made her cry, and Maria was always there to wipe her tears away. She was Aliya's confidante, and always knew exactly what to say to make her smile. Aliya adored her dearly. "Well, wouldn't you like to know, Bee," Aliya responded, tapping Maria on the nose, before walking around to her luggage.

"Wait," Maria cried, tumbling over the bed and landing next to her, "Who is it? Is it the British Daley boy? Or is it that German gymnast, Nguyen?"

"Nguyen is seven years older. Besides, it is no one," she shrugged her shoulders, before adding, "I just won't be back right after dinner is all."

Squealing, Maria continued probing Aliya for answers, interrogating her on who this mystery man was. _Typical Maria. _Of course, she didn't have to know that she was meeting one of their biggest rivals for some coffee that night. Brushing every single one of Maria's questions off, Aliya combed her hair and examined herself in the mirror. She didn't want to look too formal and distant with her Team Russia tracksuit, and she didn't want to look like she didn't put any effort into what she was wearing either. Surely a pair of jeans and her favourite shirt would be suitable. "Maria, shut up! You're wasting all your breath on this, what if you can't compete well at the qualifications in two days?" Aliya chided. Narrowing her eyes at Aliya, Maria huffed and led the way out the door to dinner with the team.

—

At nine o' clock sharp, Aliya picked a seat at the back corner of the small Starbucks joint in the Village. She held the warm cup in her hands, savouring its comforting heat in the cool café. Taking a sip of her hot chocolate, Aliya thought about her plan again. _Should I really do this?_

Truth be told, she almost felt bad for what she was about to do. After all, Aly was the only one who showed her enough concern and had opened her arms, all ready to take Aliya in as a friend. Yesterday night at the party, Aly had given her more care than she was comfortable with receiving. It had felt very supportive, and it screamed sincerity. Even that morning, _Aliya_ had shown the American some concern too. She did mean what she said about liking the American, how could she not, after all that she's done so far? _Maybe I shouldn't do this._ Snapping herself out of the guilt that was slowly seeping into her head, Aliya shook her head. _I need to win this._

Ten minutes later, Aliya had finished half of her drink and was impatiently tapping her feet. _Where is that stupid American? _"I'm here! I'm here!" Aly shouted from down the hall, waving her hand and running up to Starbucks._What, is this girl telepathic now? _"Hey!" Aly huffed, breathless from the running. "Why are you so late?" Aliya snapped. Realising that she had to stick with her plan, she softened her tone, "It is okay. You were not so late anyway. Drink? I pay." Aly beamed, but quickly cleared her throat and gave a smaller smile, "Yeah, okay, cool. That's very nice of you. Thanks." Aliya raised an eyebrow at Aly's uncharacteristically withdrawn manner, but chose to pay no heed to it as she got up to place Aly's order.

—

The girls sat at Starbucks for well over an hour, talking about how life was like in their country, their parents, friends and school. They joked about how gymnastics had practically taken over their lives and how thrilled they were about competing in the Olympics. Aliya learned about Aly's journey as a gymnast, and Aly found out about Aliya's road to recovery after the injury. The two hit it off, and Aliya was surprised at how well the conversation was going. Aliya laughed at her jokes, and even cracked a few herself. Aly poked some fun at her English, and the two soon ended up teaching each other their languages and slang. They were in stitches from Aly's ever-failing attempts at speaking Russian, and Aliya's awkward pronunciation.

Aly didn't prattle on about her life this time; instead, she listened and let Aliya speak, too. She showed genuine interest in her, and Aliya couldn't help but let her guard slip a little more than it already had. Aly seemed to care about just Aliya, not Aliya Mustafina the Russian gymnast, her rival. She couldn't help but notice the way Aly's lip quirked when she spoke, or how she was so animated when she spoke about gymnastics. She found that her heart soared every time she incited laughter, or even just a smile, in the other girl. She liked Aly. In fact, she liked her very much. Very soon, Aliya found herself relaxing, and not wanting to leave the café at all.

"I really like spending time with you, Aliya," Aly remarked, after their laughter had died down.

"Me, too. We do this again. It is quite awesome," Aliya replied, stressing the last word, having just been taught what it meant.

"Yeah, we really should. Today was very, um, pri-yat-nyy?" Aly laughed.

"Maybe I can help your totally bad Russian," Aliya sniggered in reply.

The two girls collapsed into a fit of giggles again, causing the barista to shoot them a rather annoyed glare. Just as Aly opened her mouth to speak, Aliya heard a muffled 'oof' coming from near the door of Starbucks. Turning to the entrance, she caught sight of a petite brunette just as she fell, or was pulled, backwards behind a potted plant. _Maroney girl. _Widening her eyes, she turned back to Aly, who hadn't seemed to notice anything amiss. "What?" Aly asked, placing her hand over her lips, "Did I say it funny?" Feeling a bubbling sense of rage, Aliya knitted her eyebrows together. _No, she's your friend now, too. Leave it. _Taking a deep breath, Aliya counted to ten and let her rage simmer. She wasn't going to blow her new friendship because of this. Perhaps Aly didn't even know her teammate was at the door either.

Aliya looked at the clock at the wall. _Shit. _It was ten forty-five, and curfew was in fifteen minutes. Shooting Aly a worried look, Aliya got up and announced that it was time to go.

—

The two girls sauntered back to their rooms, continuing their conversation along the way. "Well, here's mine," Aly motioned to the door to her left, "Room 132, just in case you need me." "Mine's 151, if you want to know," Aliya replied, a little too quickly. Chuckling, Aly turned to face Aliya, "Thanks for tonight. I really enjoyed myself."

Aliya shook her head and smiled, "It is okay. I had fun too. Totally cool."

"Not bad, Mustafina," Aly said with a laugh, "Good night, then. I guess I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow?" Aliya nodded her head and stepped forwards, opening her arms and welcoming Aly into a hug. Hugging the smaller girl, Aliya felt her heart do those crazy things again. She inhaled the scent of the girl's shampoo, sighing at how it made her heart skip yet another beat. They fit so perfectly together, and it was a wonder she had lasted the past seventeen years without this feeling. She smoothed Aly's hair and reluctantly pulled away from her. She gave Aly a peck on both cheeks before offering her one last smile, and walked down the hallway to her room.

Aliya smiled to herself as she ran the events of that night through her head. She'd gotten what she had set out for, the American's trust, and she knew that Aly was now wrapped around her finger just like she wanted. She could manipulate this into anything she wanted now, but why wasn't she happy? Why did she feel that all she wanted to see was the girl's radiant smile? Why did she want to be the _cause_ of that smile? Why did she even care about her happiness?

_No, I cannot._

Wishing those thoughts away, Aliya unlocked her room door. Winning the medals was what she came to London to do, and that was exactly what was going to happen. Nothing, not even Alexandra Raisman of USA, would stand in her way. She would take her down if she had to, and with no mercy at all. Aliya was a winner, and win she will.


	6. The Distraction

**Both POV**

Slapping her palm over the blaring alarm clock, Aliya rubbed her eyes. She glanced over at the alarm clock. 6:30AM. Groaning, she blinked the sleep teetering at the edge of her eyes away and got up, resting on her elbow. She hated getting up this early, especially since she was still adjusting to the time difference. 6:30 was no time for _anyone _to be awake, let alone an athlete like her who's supposed to be well rested and invigorated for the competition._How in hell am I supposed to be awake enough for training? _Aliya slapped herself awake and turned her body towards her snoring roommate. "Bee, Bee, get up," Aliya hissed. Getting no response, Aliya dragged her legs off of the bed, set her stuffed panda by her pillow, tucked it in, and sauntered over to Maria's bed. Brushing Maria's hair aside, Aliya leaned in and took a deep breath, before screaming, "Get up, Bee, it's time to run, run, run!" Maria tumbled out of her bed shrieking and her arms flailing wildly. Scowling at the chortling Aliya, Maria stormed into the toilet. _Well, at least now she's awake._

Aliya walked over to her luggage and took her clothes out. It was a routine for the Russian team to go running in the morning before training began. This time, they were doing it in an unfamiliar environment, so, running around the Village would do just well for them. On the day after the party, Aliya had been careful to run around the secluded areas of the Village, for fear that she might bump into someone she knew, by that, she means the American. This morning, however, she longed to see Aly. After their little 'date' at Starbucks the night before, Aliya had been more smitten by the easygoing American.

She revelled in the way Aly was so boisterous and excitable, the way she felt for things with such passion and the way she was so distant at the same time. There was something about her that hooked Aliya, but she didn't know what. It could be that she was just so different from the other athletes; so outspoken, yet so secretive. What she showed to Aliya seemed to be just the tip of the iceberg, and that there was something much bigger she was keeping hidden from everyone. It could also be that Aly was really just the perfect foil to Aliya, making their personalities mesh into one great, big, wondrous explosion of colour. Whatever the case may be, Aliya was dangerously intrigued. Squeezing her eyes shut, Aliya willed those thoughts out of her head. _Stop it._

"Your turn, ass," Maria spat as she walked out of the toilet. _Well, Olympics first, American second._

—

Aly awoke to the sound of Foo Fighters blasting through the speakers. The music pounded in her head and shook her to the core. Her annoyance surged, and she threw the blanket off of her body and stormed towards the source of the noise. Jordyn was taking a shower, but why she had decided to blast that choice of music at that ungodly hour beat Aly. Hammering at the door, a very grumpy Aly yelled at her teammate to turn the volume down. The toilet door swung open to reveal Jo in her running get-up. "Come, girly, time for a morning run!" Jo chirped. Aly was barely able to keep her eyes open, and there Jo was bouncing on the balls of her feet, all ready to go running at, Aly glanced at the clock, 6.30? She narrowed her heavy eyelids and scowled at her best friend. Swearing and muttering something about swapping all of Jo's chocolate pudding with mud, Aly trudged into the toilet to freshen up.

—

With the Russian women's artistic gymnastics team in tow, Aliya took the lift down to the canteen of the Village for a quick snack before the run. Selecting a granola bar and an apple, Aliya turned to walk back to her table, but walked right smack into someone. Cursing in Russian and struggling to keep her apple from rolling out of her hands, she was unpleasantly reminded of her accident on the first day at the place. Two strong hands wrapped around her arm and steadied her. Looking up to see whom she had so embarrassingly collided into, she was lost in a sea of icy blue. With the sharp gaze of a wolf and the frosty hue of blue and grey, those eyes were capable of sending chills down anyone's back, including Aliya's. "Are you okay?" the girl asked irritably, her voice coated with a thick French accent, before quickly adding, "Aliya Mustafina."

Recognising the voice, Aliya casted a heated glare at the girl and narrowed her eyes. The girl before her was France's star gymnast, Nichole Girard. She was known for her expertise on the bars and vault, and was a household name in gymnast circles. Aliya had never competed against her, for Nichole started competing at a younger age, and Aliya missed her at the latest few due to her injury. She had only seen Nichole in pictures and videos, and she recalled the days at home where she would sit at her laptop and gawk at the girl's constantly flawless forms. Truth be told, she was terrified of having to compete against her in the all-around. Nichole Girard was respected for her skills and steadfastness. She was a tiny fuse bomb, and many stories of her haughty and stubborn nature floated around in circles. Aliya didn't even know her, only stories, but she'd already hated the girl, long before that day.

Nonetheless, Girard was her competition, and Aliya was definitely going to treat her as such. Gripping her food tighter, Aliya nodded her head in Nichole's direction and gave a tight smile. "Nichole Girard, I know about you," Aliya scoffed, straightening up. She couldn't help but keep staring into those eyes. They hurt to look at, but they had such a great pull, and Aliya soon found herself being unable to tear her gaze away from the girl. She studied her sharp features, committing her porcelain skin, high cheekbones, and pointed chin to memory. Girard had flawless skin, and she had a certain snooty turn to her nose. She was a classic beauty, and her features struck Aliya as those gracing the faces of nobles. Girard straightened her blue Team France jacket and sniffed. For a girl of her small frame, Nichole commanded a room's attention like no other. Her very presence was enough to cause Aliya to shudder.

Aliya searched the girl's face for any indication towards her wanting to hold a conversation. Seeing none, Aliya turned on her heel and walked back towards her table. "No, wait," the petite girl started, jogging after Aliya, "Good luck for qualifications." At those words, Aliya whipped back around to face her competitor, appalled, only to be met with the girl's retreating frame. _She wished me luck? _Furrowing her eyebrows in sheer bafflement, Aliya looked at the girl a while longer before heading back to her seat.

—

Aly watched as Aliya and the French girl conversed. Technically, they weren't conversing; rather, they were giving each other sexy eyes. Aliya stared at her with such concentration and certainty, she was afraid the petite French girl – what's her name? Something Girard. Natasia? Nichole? – would spontaneously combust. On the other hand, the Natasia/Nichole was gazing back at Aliya, a ghost of a smirk lining her lips. _Who is she and why is she making sexy eyes at my girl? _Clenching her milk carton tighter, Aly felt her face get hot and her fingertips tingling. She itched to swoop Aliya away from the French girl, whom she'd heard was a complete nightmare. She would save Aliya from the uncomfortably cold stare of the French girl, if it meant she could hold Aliya's gaze instead.

Aly had thought that the previous night had gone better than planned. She thought that the two of them had enjoyed themselves, because she certainly did. McKayla had told her to be a little less animated, and a lot more nonchalant, if she wanted to impress the Russian. The team even promised to hide by the plants outside Starbucks in order to signal to her when she was being too enthusiastic. Now that she thought about it, perhaps taking advice from a team that was hell-bent on watching her embarrass herself in front of a girl she really liked was not such a great idea. Mentally noting to swap the_entire _team's chocolate pudding with mud, Aly sauntered over to the basket full of fruits and surveyed the pair of girls lost in their staring contest in the middle of the canteen.

_What the hell are they even doing? _Aliya started to turn away from the girl, and Aly beamed. _Atta girl. _"No, wait! Good luck for qualifications!" the girl called. Aly's face fell. The girl turned around hurriedly, as if she didn't want to be seen wishing someone else luck. _Why was she making an exception for Aliya?_Aly could feel her ears turn red and her skin prickling as Aliya spun around too, shocked. _Why did Aliya pay attention to her, too? _Seething, Aly stormed back to her table.

—

That night, Aliya lay on her belly atop her bed and scrolled through her Vkontakte news feed. _Don't care, don't care, don't care- _Aliya stopped short. Staring at the picture, her eyes went wide as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. It was just a mass of pixels and colour, but it pierced through her heart no less. She felt her chest and throat get tight, and she stared at the wall to keep her emotions from getting the better of her. Reaching out for her stuffed panda, Aliya clung on to it and flopped onto her side. _No, not this time. _Aliya closed her eyes and counted to ten. Steadying her breath and getting back up, she blinked back the warm tears. _You're better than this. _She got up off of her bed and walked over to the fridge. She selected a bottle of water and opened it, before flipping the television on. _Not this time._

On her bed, her laptop illuminated the wall behind her.

It was a mass of pixels and colours that was assembled into one heart-breaking bullet that shot right through Aliya's heart. It was a simple picture of a teenager kissing his girlfriend on the lips. To anyone else, it would be a completely normal sight. To Aliya, it was agony. Seeing the girl in the photo before her, her lips planted on the boy who used to hold Aliya's heart so dearly, would usually have been too much for Aliya. Not today.

She was strong. She would prove to the boy that she didn't need him to flourish. She would prove to the little blond girl in the picture that she might have taken her man, but she sure as hell won't be taking her medals or happiness. Most of all, she would prove to herself that she didn't need the boy's affection to feel like a winner.

—

In room 132, Aly was sitting cross-legged on her bed, eyes closed and her routine running through her head. That day's practice had gone infinitely better than the one the day before. She had been completely focused, but at times she caught herself slipping; perhaps a glance over to the Russian team, or a flickering thought about the girl's lips. She would always stop herself before her thoughts went wildly out of control and she thought of Aliya being pressed up against a locker pleading for Aly to- "Aly, hey! Jesus, listen to me. Should I wear my pink or yellow PJs?" Jo asked. _Really? _"Hey, I'm going through my routine here! Qualifications tomorrow, hello?" Aly answered, with a hint of irritation, "Yellow." Throwing a 'thanks, girly' over her shoulder, Jo skipped to the toilet.

Rolling her eyes, Aly resumed her original position, and tried desperately to review her routine in her head. Her thoughts kept wandering over to the Russian girl and how she bent over to stretch, how she licked at her lips, or how damned _good_ she looked after that hard day of practice. Sighing, Aly picked up the phone. _Just one call, just to hear her voice. _Dialling room 151, Aly waited and waited for the receiver to click. "Hello?" came the thickly accented, supple voice of Aliya Mustafina.

"Hey! Aliya! It's me, Aly. I just decided to call to, um, wish you luck for tomorrow!" Aly fibbed. _Not bad, Raisman._

"Thank you. Totally cool! But you can wish me tomorrow, why now?" Aliya asked with a chuckle.

"Because, well, I wanted to be the first to wish you!" Aly blurted. Aly slapped her forehead at her pathetic-sounding answer. _Way to go, idiot. _"Well, um, that was all. Good night, Aliya! Sweet dreams!"

"Good night, Aly, sleep well." Aly was faced with a dial tone. _Well, that went swimmingly. _

Groaning and slapping the phone back on the receiver, Aly rolled over onto her side. It was qualifiers the next day, and what she needed now was rest. She would see Aliya then, and all would be well. There would be no French girl and no pesky teammates, just Aly, Aliya and an empty locker room. All would be well.


	7. The Risk

**Aly's POV**

"On the floor, representing the Russian Federation, Aliya Mustafina."

Aly's eyes snapped up from the sports tape she was removing from her feet and over to the floor. She had completed all her routines and was waiting for the opportunity to talk to the Russian girl. Once she was done with her floor exercise, Aly would finally be able to do so. She didn't really need to say much. She just wanted to congratulate the girl for her great work at the qualifiers. That was it. Aly was Aliya's competitor, and it was alright for competitors to say that, right? Then again, she wouldn't mind discussing with the girl about gymnastics, Russia, the stars, physics or even the damn theory to what was inside Marsellus Wallace's briefcase. She just wanted to talk to her.

Truthfully, she missed Aliya. It had only been a couple of hours since she'd last heard her voice, but she missed it so much. She missed the way her name rolled off Aliya's tongue, and how she seemed to relish every moment she had the opportunity to say it. Aliya always dragged her words, so when she said her name, she gave it a throaty drawl that Aly had grown to love. Her English wasn't the best, but Aly certainly could listen to her speak for days on end if given the opportunity to.

She loved their conversations because Aliya was so intelligent, and she was simply enchanting. She would hold on to every word and sound uttered by Aliya, run it past her ears again and again before tucking it in safely at the back of her mind. She noticed every one of the girl's quirks; the twinkle in her eye at the mention of her country or gymnastics, the slight blush to her cheeks and bat of her eyelash when an unexpected compliment was thrown her way, or the ghost of a smile that appeared whenever Aly laughed. She pushed Aly's heart closer to the brink of falling into abyss of love with every word and every action. All of Aliya's insides tumbled out when they spoke. Aly was like her diary, noting all of the things she did or said, and registering every little shift in her emotions. Aly knew that she was one of the lucky few that had such unlimited access into the Russian's mind.

Aly hadn't felt like this in a long time. She sighed as she recalled the girl who used to have the same effect on her. She recalled her chestnut coloured hair as it was blown in the autumn wind, her expressive chocolate eyes that teased her relentlessly, and the way she led Aly on so harrowingly for two years. Aly loved her. She loved her beyond words. She loved the girl with all of her heart. She would go to bed at night replaying their conversations and supposed dates. Her heart fluttered every time she saw the girl's name pop up on MSN, or when her name flashed up on her phone. Aly loved her.

But she didn't love Aly. She'd lied to, manipulated and exploited Aly. She took Aly's heart, held it in a vice-like grip, and refused to let it go. She both enslaved and liberated Aly. She made Aly feel like a child on Christmas day, and at other times, cold and raw. She'd used her for attention and comfort, thinking that Aly would never leave her, regardless of how badly she got bruised. That's where she was wrong. That's where Keira Simmons had gotten her all wrong. Aly had walked out from that awful relationship, or friendship, whatever, battered and bruised, but all ready to live another day.

This day, Aliya was the one to hold Aly's heart in a vice-like grip.

"Aliya Mustafina from the Russian Federation, 14.433," the announcer boomed across the Arena.

Aly glanced over to Aliya, who was sitting on her bench, and tried to get the girl's attention. Aliya looked up from her bottle and smiled. _That smile will be the death of me. _Throwing her jacket on, Aly got up from her bench and walked over to Aliya. She tried to suppress the goofy smile that was threatening to surface and flicked her right wrist in an equally goofy wave, "Hey, Aliya. Great job out there!" Aliya pushed herself off of the bench and took Aly in her arms. _Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh. _Aliya pulled away and pecked her on both her cheeks, and whispered, "You as well, Raisman." Aliya winked and stood with her arms akimbo, as if daring Aly to ask her the question she so desperately wanted to ask.

"So, Aliya. I just wanted to ask you if-"

Aliya smirked.

"If you had a fun time on the apparatus?" Aly punched herself mentally for her horrible save, or fiasco, and swore to practise basic conversational skills in front of the mirror that night.

Aliya brought her hand up to her mouth to conceal the laughter that was about to burst out. After calming herself down, she nodded.

"Oh, that's cool then," Aly nodded, looking around for some inspiration for conversation to carry on. _I need to listen to you speak. Why won't you speak?_Cursing the Russian for picking now of all times to dampen her confidence, Aly blurted, "Do you want to follow me to the changing room to pick some stuff up?"

Aliya raised her eyebrow and walked ahead, and Aly swore she saw a smirk that disappeared as quickly as it came. Aly followed the Russian girl into the changing room, her stomach twisting into knots and her fingers nervously picking at her zipper.

_Now or never._

_—_

At the lockers assigned to the Russians, Aliya was leaning against them and waiting for Aly. Although her smile was warm, there was something that was being hidden behind her eyes, something a lot darker, a lot hotter. Aly walked up to the girl and wrung her fingers together. _Do it._

"Aliya, there's something I need to tell you," Aly started.

"You want to get thing, I thought?" Aliya queried, faux confusion written all over her face.

Aly rolled her eyes. _This girl is impossible. _"Stop, just listen." Aly studied Aliya's face, and looked for any sign of protest. Seeing none, she continued, "Aliya, we've only properly known each other for a couple of days, but I know you're different."

Aliya knitted her eyebrows.

"I know you're different because you're all I can think about." _Shit. _"What I mean is, that, I'm constantly worrying for you. This is not supposed to happen, because you're my competitor, and I should hate you. I should hate you with every fibre of my being. My hatred for you should reverberate in my very soul and shake me to my core, but it doesn't. I don't hate you, and I don't think I ever can. I look at you during trainings, and I don't wish for you to fall off the beam, or lose your grip on the bars. I want you to stick your landing, and complete your two-and-a-half, triple, maybe, I don't know, quadruple twist. I want you to do well, and I want you to win. Do you understand?"

If Aliya hadn't looked confused before, she sure as hell did now. Slowly, she shook her head.

"I don't even know. I just, I like you. You're the first competitor I actually, genuinely like. I want you to win. I want you to win because it makes you happy. That's what friends want for friends, right? They want their friends to be happy, even if it means they don't get what they want. I'm not saying I want to flunk the Olympics, what I'm saying is that I would love to see you win.

"That's why you're different, I guess. You're different because you're special to me. I feel so free when I'm with you. I feel so important, and cared about. I just feel so… Me." Aly looked up from her fingers. "With you, I'm not that American, Alexandra Raisman. I'm just Aly. I mean, who the hell is McKayla or Gabby or Jo or Kyla? I'm just Aly, you know, the girl from Massachusetts, who wants to make friends with Aliya, the girl from Russia. That's it. It's that simple. I like you; I really, really like you. So, please, don't push me away because I'm in the way of your Olympic gold. Take me in, don't be afraid of me."

Aliya took a deep breath, and closed her eyes. _Shit, what did I say. _Clasping her hands together and opening her eyes, Aliya gave a wan smile, "I don't know, Aly. I like you too. But we cannot, not for everyone to look at. We're rivals. Not friends."

"I know that, I know. That's what we're supposed to be. But you had fun, you like spending time with me. I watch you. I know how you behave with your team. I know you like me, I know you like spending time with me. I'm just asking for friendship, Aliya. That's all I'm asking for. I'm not asking you to go out with me or anything." Aliya's head snapped up. _Shit. _"What I'm asking for is your friendship, too, for you to keep doing this with me. The talking and the laughing and the hanging out. We don't have to announce it to the world."

"I do not know, Aly," Aliya whispered, her eyes downcast.

"Shit, I just realised how much this kind of sounds like a confession," she shook her head and laughed, "Maybe I'm overreacting. I don't know. One thing's for sure, though, I enjoy your company is all," Aly shrugged her shoulders and extended her arms, coaxing Aliya into a hug.

Aly interlaced her fingers behind Aliya's back, and pulled her in for a tighter hug. She loved how the two fit so perfectly together, it was obviously a sign that they were star-crossed lovers of sorts, right? She lifted her chin over Aliya's shoulder and leaned her head into the crook of her neck, breathing in Aliya's distinct scent. If this was the last time she'd get to hug her, she would jolly well make the best of it. Walking Aliya back into the lockers and hearing no objection, Aly rested her entire weight on Aliya. She could feel tears prickling at the back of her eyes when she thought about how she'd not only failed to leave London with Aliya on her arm, but also as a friend. She liked the girl, she really did. Right now, being friends seemed like the only possible outcome, and she couldn't even have that right now.

She felt Aliya's fingers on her neck, and her thumb slowly stroking her blues away. She felt Aliya's hot breath at the back of her ear, and could hear the girl whispering something in Russian. She didn't want to pull away; she wanted to feel the warmth and protection of Aliya's arms forever. Looking up to meet those mysterious eyes, Aly smiled. Aliya lowered her gaze, and whispered, "I like you as well, Aly."

They both leaned in for their customary two pecks. _We're not done just yet, Mustafina. _Jerking her head towards the left and praying that she wouldn't collide with the girl's teeth or nose, Aly went in for a kiss – a proper kiss, one on the lips. Thankfully, Aly was met with a soft pair of lips, albeit a little off-target. _Yes. _Aliya's eyes flung open, she squeaked and tried to tug herself away, but Aly held her steady, determined to get at least part of what she wanted. Aly could feel Aliya's arm muscles tense around her shoulders, and her neck ached from the pressure Aliya was exerting from her fingers. Aliya was breathing quick, hot breaths, before she gradually melted into their kiss.

Aly pinned her arms at her sides, pushed Aliya up further against the lockers and dragged her tongue over her bottom lip. Aliya released a small moan, and Aly slipped her tongue inside of her mouth. She flicked at Aliya's tongue and tried to coax it into her mouth. She could feel the rapid beating of Aliya's heart even through both their jackets, and her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. She opened her eyes to see Aliya's closed, her eyebrows tense and tips of her ears bright red. She drew her tongue along the roof of Aliya's mouth and directed her attention back to Aliya's bottom lip. She sucked it between her lips, peeking her tongue out now and then.

Aliya suddenly forced her hands out of Aly's grip. _Shit, shit, shit. _Pressing both her hands on Aly's shoulders, she shoved her away, and flipped her onto her back against the lockers. She lunged in for another kiss and mimicked Aly's previous action, taking Aly's bottom lip between her teeth and biting down._Fuck. _Aly gasped and squeezed her eyes shut. Aliya's hands brushed over her shoulders and slowly made their way down her sides, grabbing her waist and closing the remaining gap between the two. She left Aly's lips and tilted her head down towards Aly's flushed neck, and just as she was about to lick at the expanse of flesh, Aliya heard a voice.

"Alka! Alka, are you here?" Ksenia called from the entrance of the changing room. Clambering away from Aly, Aliya nearly toppled over the bench. Having regained some sort of clarity, Aly straightened her jacket and smoothed her hair. Aliya's ponytail was askew, and she had a different look in her eye – shock, lust, confusion, and a hint of rage. Her fingers grazed her bottom lip as though testing to see if she had indeed dreamt up the situation. The two girls gaped at each other, still recovering from their previous venture, their faces lined with sheer bafflement. As Ksenia's voice drew closer, the magnitude of the situation finally settled on Aly.

_Shit._

Backing away from the stunned Aliya, who also looked bewildered by what they had just done, Aly snuck around the other side of the lockers. Before scampering back out, Aly offered a small smile. Aliya looked on, and Aly saw a flicker of a smile, just as she turned to run out.

—

Aliya Mustafina was a peculiar thing. She was unpredictable, and completely unreadable. Her eyes were sad, but they tried so hard to mask that emotion under layers and layers of ice. Her eyes held mysteries and secrets that could certainly never be unravelled. What Aly saw that day, weren't the layers of ice, nor the mind-bending mysteries. What Aly saw was a girl; a curious girl, one who was afraid of the implications of what she did, but intrigued by it regardless. That girl wanted to live, for she had been as good as dead for far too long. Aly wondered how long she'd lived in that state of constant fear and restriction, and how long she'd wanted to break free.

Aly gave that to her that day. She broke the lock and the scared little girl scrambled out – so lost, but excited nonetheless. She breathed life into the soul of the once-dead Aliya Mustafina, and she knew of that. She knew that she had done what no one had ever done. She knew that Aliya saw life once again. She knew that she had sealed Aliya's friendship and hunger for thrill with that kiss. Of course, she was going to leave London with Aliya on her arm, she was sure of that.


	8. The New Plan

**Aliya's POV**

The Russian team was bustling over breakfast. Vika and Anastasia chattered excitedly about both their qualification rounds that afternoon. Ksenia was fussing about how the team should hurry up with their meal and get back to training. Maria had just plopped herself down on Aliya's right, and was noisily joking about the 'funny rainbow marshmallow cereal'. The team was a ball of electricity and sheer enthusiasm, but not Aliya. Aliya sat at the table quietly, reclusively poking at her hardening oatmeal.

She felt Maria tap on her shoulder, and vaguely remembered her asking if she was alright. Aliya had absently waved her off and coughed out a gruff 'yes'. She was right there at breakfast, sitting alongside her teammates, but her mind was distant. It was nowhere near London, gymnastics, or the gold. All she could think about was the accursed American who had made her so weak at the knees and hollow in the head.

She'd been up the whole night just thinking about their endeavour in the locker room. She remembered how flushed she got just staring at Aly, and how she so wanted to cry out at her touch. She remembered wanting to strangle Ksenia for interrupting. Of course, she knew what was going to happen the moment the two girls started towards the locker room. She knew that solitude and their blood pumping with a fresh batch of teen hormones would lead to something like that. What she didn't know was the effect it would leave on her and how long it'd last. She could still feel Aly's lips; taking her shower, lying in bed, brushing her teeth, she could feel it on hers, butterflies springing to life in her stomach.

It had only been a couple of hours, but how she longed for it. She wanted to feel the warmth of Aly's body pressed up against hers, have her pin her hands down again, and to see the look in Aly's eyes when Aliya flipped her onto her back. The thought of Aly's hooded eyes and flushed lips made Aliya bite on the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from sighing. Aly's adorable last wave goodbye brought a smile to Aliya's lips. Aliya had never done that with a girl, and even when she did do it with the boy she loved, it was never that passionate. She felt tingles at her fingertips and shivers down her spine as she recounted the previous afternoon. She wanted more.

_No._

Aliya had a plan. Aliya came to London to fight, to crush, and to win. She didn't come to fall in love. She wanted to lead the American on before crushing her into the pulp that was once her competition. She wanted to eliminate her rival by playing the dealing hand in a complicated game called 'Love'. She wanted to tear Aly's heart out and force her to walk away from the Olympics, her head hung low and her tail between her legs. She wanted so badly to believe that those things are exactly what she wanted. But they weren't.

What Aliya wanted was to love Aly freely, and to be far away from both their teams and the stress of the Games. She wanted to lie by the beach with her, stroke her hair and talk about their future with zest. She wanted to pop grapes into Aly's mouth and laugh about how she hated the seeds. She wanted to sit by a crackling fire and listen to Aly go on about her stupid American life. She wanted to bake with Aly and leave the kitchen smothered in eggs and flour. She wanted to wake up to her peaceful face every morning and wake her with a peck on the nose. Most of all, she wanted Aly to love her back.

Everything she felt was dangerous. It created cracks in her team and her hardy exterior. It made her average. It made her a tad bit less intimidating than she was three days before. The love she felt hurt her chances at winning the gold, or any medal at all, but did she care? Well, not in the slightest. When they had kissed, she felt her world go berserk. She looked at the world through a pair of brighter, more vibrant eyes. She didn't know that she had wanted something like this so badly, or that what they did would have felt that good. Aly made her realise these things. Aly had set her free, liberated her. Aly was her saving grace.

Aliya had a new plan. She was still at London to fight, to crush, and to win. Instead, she couldn't help but fall for the American, and why fight that? It may not be love just yet, but who is she to stop her heart, or hormones, from wanting to chase the American? Her new plan was to let Aly be her motivation. Aliya was going to win the medals, not for herself, but to show Aly that she was a fighter. Aliya was going to fight for the gold, and for her girl. She was going to tell Aly how she felt about their status of 'just friends', and would take whatever Aly said in her stride; if the answer was a clear cut 'no', Aliya would prove her worth to her, if the answer was a 'yes', the locker room had better be kept empty for the next few days.

Aliya surveyed the rackety canteen, hoping to find her American for that quick discussion. Her eyes chanced upon an icy pair, one that incidentally happened to be observing her too. She narrowed her eyes at them. _Nichole Girard. _The corner of Nichole's lips quirked up when she realised that Aliya had caught her staring, and she tilted her head to the right and gave a quick wink. Disconcerted, Aliya widened her eyes at the French girl, unsure of how to respond. Nichole gave Aliya one last, wily smile before returning to the conversation with her teammates. _What an asshat._

She went back to her search for the American, and the girl's silly bun and team jacket caught her eye. _Found you. _Excusing herself to the toilet, Aliya started to make her way to Aly, completely determined to put her point across. In her concentration, she had failed to notice the petite French girl's curious stare and hasty departure from her table.

—

Aliya sat Aly down at a table just outside of the Village round the back. It was a little, round, wooden table with four equally tiny wooden stools around it. It was secluded, and very quiet, something Aliya was glad to find. She ran past this table every morning so far, and every time she did, she wondered if Aly would like to come down here with her every evening for a chat. They would do nothing but talk. She wondered if this would be 'their spot', a place where memories were made and their bond deepened. She didn't think that the first memory they made there would be so unexpected.

"Now it is my turn to talk," Aliya started. Aly smiled at her, encouraging her to carry on. _My goodness, you're beautiful. _"You know, I was thinking about, about the day before," Aliya inhaled, "and I want you to know how I feel."

_Not a bad start. Keep it simple._

"I… I think that the two of us—" Aly sat upright and opened her mouth to speak, "Wait, before you say anything, I want you to know that I'm really, really sorry for what happened yesterday. That wasn't planned and I think that what happened was sort of because of, I don't know, impulse? I mean, I don't think it's right for us to frolic around and to kiss under bleachers and crap like that. I don't mind being friends with you and all. I really don't! I just hope that I didn't scare you away or anything. I like you, a lot, so please don't hate me for doing what I did."

Aliya felt her jaw clench and eyebrows go tense. Her cheeks became warm and her lips thinned. Whatever confidence she had had in herself had just been drained out completely. Her shoulders slumped a little over and she nibbled at her bottom lip. Forcing a smile, she swallowed the lump in her throat, took a deep breath and spoke.

"Good."

_What are you doing?_

Aliya could feel tears stinging at the back of her eyes. Her throat clenched, and her heart raced. _Stop._

"I mean, I like you too, your idea is good," anger and frustration soon replaced sorrow and defeat, "To make things simpler, can we stay apart? Like, we become Russia and America, Mustafina and Raisman – not Aliya and Aly."

Aliya's words seemed to slap Aly in the face, and she turned away from Aliya. Aliya watched her take a steady breath, and took one herself. _What the hell are you doing?_

She scrutinised Aly's face, sighed and continued, "You are a very kind girl, and I like you very much."

"You've said that before," Aly interjected with a hint of malice.

"I know," Aliya nodded, "It is true. I do. You are kind, good at gymnastics, and very pretty. You talk a lot, yes. I like that. You make me different, a good different. Change is good. Less strict, more fun. That is good." _Yes, good, carry on._

Aliya cursed her poor English, but softened up when she saw Aly look back at her and break into a smile. Her barriers rapidly came back up at this, and her face hardened once more. _Let go; let go for Aly, please._

"But you are American, rival of Russia in gymnastics. We are not friends. We have to be like that, enemies." _What are you doing?_ "The past days were nice, but we cannot keep doing that." _What the fuck are you doing? _"I like you, Aly. But enough."

Tears started to fill Aly's eyes as she nodded her head slowly, trying to digest Aliya's words. Aliya knew her words stung, but what could she do? Telling Aly that she loved her and wanted to care for her were so far out of her comfort zone. She didn't want to look at Aly. She hated what she did. She hated what she said. She knew that she'd only said it because she was afraid of being let down. She knew she said that because Aly had hurt her first, with her 'being friends' bullshit, and all she wanted to do was to hurt Aly more than Aly had hurt her. Aliya hated what she was doing because she reached the same low as everyone else. She was a cowardly puppeteer, and she hated that.

She looked at the girl, who had her hand clasped over her mouth and her eyes squeezed shut. She was hunched over her knees and her shoulders rocked slightly with soft sobs. _You fucking moron. _Aliya's heart ached at the sight. What had she done? She'd torn Aly's heart out, stamped over it, and thrown it into a pack of hungry dogs. She knew that she had accomplished her initial plan, she'd done that better than expected. But that wasn't what she was here to do. She didn't fight for her girl; she picked her apart bit by bit, and finally demolished her in a swift, sharp blow to the heart.

Aly got up suddenly and wiped the tears off of her face. Her face contorted into a horribly pained smile, and extended her hand, "It was nice knowing you, Mustafina. Good luck for your events." Her voice quivered, and her words oozed with both resentment and impotence.

Aliya stood facing the American, and took Aly's hand in hers, "You too, Raisman." _Fix it. _Aliya leaned in for the customary two pecks on the cheek, but Aly stepped back, her shoulders pulled back and her head held high. _No, shit, no._ She gave Aliya a taut nod, before striding off back towards the Village.

_Get her._

Aliya stood rooted by the table, the table that was to be 'their spot'. She stood watching her American girl walk away from her, retreating into the distance. She let the tears fall as she stood there, nibbling at her bottom lip and fiddling with the hem of her jacket. She didn't care who saw her like that, for she had every right to be crying. She'd hurt her love, and she'd hurt herself. She'd ruined every chance of friendship or love the two might every have. She hated what she'd done, and would do anything to redo it.

Aliya sank back down onto the stool she was sitting on, and held her face in her hands. She allowed the tears to pool in her hands as she sat there crying, her lungs burning for air and her face hot from the tears. She cried for her loss. She cried for their friendship. She cried for Aly, whose heart she had so callously ripped apart. She sat there and cried harder than she ever did for her ex-boyfriend or her torn ACL.

She started when she felt a warm hand on her shoulder. She wiped her tears away hastily and looked up at the person, meeting, once again, an icy blue gaze. Nichole Girard gave a small smile, awkwardly held out a tissue, and in a voice thick with a French accent, said, "I'm here for you."


	9. The Last Attempt

Aly ran the conversation they just had through her head again and again. She walked back to the Village with her shoulders sagged and her head hung low. The tips of her ears grew warm and her face turned hot as she fought back tears.

_We become Russia and America, Mustafina and Raisman – not Aliya and Aly._She scratched at her left thumb and bit on her bottom lip to stop the tears from falling again.

_We are not friends. We have to be like that, enemies. _Aly's heart throbbed, and sank further into the pit of her stomach. Aliya was wrong. Aliya was so wrong. They weren't enemies. They were friends. They were Aliya and Aly.

_I like you, Aly, but enough. _Aly wrapped her arms around herself and dug her fingers into her waist. She wanted to throw up. Her pace quickened as she felt the tears pool in her eyes. _Aliya, please, come get me._

_I like you, Aly, but enough._

She walked more quickly, increasing her pace every time that line popped into her head. She broke into a sprint back to the Village. Her lungs burned for air, her eyes were misty with tears, and her heart throbbed ardently for Aliya. How could her heart still yearn for that vile Russian? She had held Aly's heart on a leash and tightened the grip, before releasing it again – exposed, raw, and helpless. Aly had sworn that she loved Aliya, but after this, how could she face the girl again, let alone keep chasing her?

The Russian had torn her limb from limb, flayed her soul and left her for dead. She'd done it so easily and mercilessly, that Aly cringed at the thought of ever falling for her again. _I like you, Aly, but enough. _How could she just do that? What gave her the right to make Aly's heart soar, her temperature to rise, and goose bumps to erupt all over her skin? What gave her the right to have such a profound impact on Aly? What gave her the right to keep doing it after she rubbed Aly raw?

Aly pushed past the doors into the Village and started to dash back to her room. Her surroundings were reduced to a blur and time seemed to slow down. All she could hear were her staccato breaths and pounding heart. Blood rushed to her head and her tears flowed freely down her flushed cheeks. She didn't want to do anything or see anyone that day – no training, no Fierce Five, no Olympics, no stupid Russian. No, she needed some time for herself, and she was jolly well going to get some, regardless of the consequences.

—

Aly bolted upright at the sound of a timid knock at the door. She groaned as she planted her face back onto her pillow. She didn't have time for anyone or their sympathy. The person knocked again. Heaving herself back upright, Aly glanced at the mirror. _Yikes. _Her hair had fallen out of her bun and wily strands framed her tear-stricken and pillow-creased face. Her eyes were sore and bloodshot, her nose was bright red and her entire appearance screamed 'hermit'. She wet her dry lips and squinted her eyes. _I guess it's not as bad when you squint. _She really didn't want to unlock the door, but being cooped up alone in her room moping about a certain Russian heartbreaker wouldn't do much good to her ailing heart. Besides, there was no way Jordyn could survive without her secret stash of chocolate pudding in the room.

"Aly, um, are you alright?" a timid voice piped. _Kyla. _Aly's spirit perked up a little at that thought. She always had a soft spot for Kyla. After all, Kyla, their little Mighty Mouse, was the baby of the team, and Aly always assumed the role of mother hen to her. Smiling a little to herself, Aly heaved herself off of the bed and walked up to the door.

She wasn't sure if she expected the gulp from Kyla, but she pretended it didn't happen and invited her in. "The team sent me here to check up on- What happ- Why do you look like shi- I mean, are you okay?" Kyla stuttered, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth to suppress a gasp.

"I look like shit, I know," Aly said drily as she rolled her eyes.

"I'm sorry, you just really do look terrible," Kyla sat on the bed and pulled Aly's arm along, "You've got pillow creases on your face and all, and your eyes are so red. Have you been drinking?"

Kyla looks so serious, and Aly couldn't help but laugh. This was what she loved about Kyla. She was so compassionate, and if there was one person in the entire world that was genuine and hadn't let the fame of the Fierce Five get to her, it was Kyla. Aly loved her for being so down-to-earth. She made sure Aly's feet were always planted firmly on the ground, regardless of what success they've made over the past couple of years.

"No, I haven't, Ky," Aly sighed, "It's just that, you know, shit happens. People stomp all over you sometimes, and make you angry and upset, and all you can do is watch. There isn't much you can do about it, so you just watch in shock and that feeling of betrayal creeps up on you, and you can't do shit about it. One day you'll feel like that too, but you just have to take it in your stride."

"Gosh, Aly. I'm turning 16, and you're barely older than me. You think you're all that, huh, being philosophical and intelligent-sounding," Kyla laughed, and punched Aly's arm, eliciting a chuckle from her, "So, I'm guessing your Russian princess has something to do with this?"

Aly leaned her head on Kyla's shoulder, and sighed, "Yeah, that beautiful, hazel-eyed, Russian bitch."

Kyla ran her fingers through Aly's messy hair and hugged her, burying her face in Aly's neck. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, her voice muffled by Aly's skin.

Aly sighed, peeling away from the hug. She wasn't ready to talk about it with anyone just yet, but it was Kyla. She would listen. "Long story short, I spoke to her today and stuff and she told me that she didn't want to be with me or even remain friends, which is pretty stupid if you ask me. I mean, she knows that I think she's pretty cool and stuff, you know? And she likes spending time with me, I hope. I mean, she always looks happier with me than with her team. Do you notice that? Like how her eyes sparkle when we're together, and how she smiles a lot more. I notice it. Then today she tells me that and I don't know what to make of it. Then she starts rubbing all up against this Natasha girl, I don't know, the French one-"

"Nichole."

"Right, okay, Nichole, and she just, I don't know. She's just horrible. I really like her, and that sucks the most. I can't seem to stop thinking about her. After what she said today, I just want her more. I want to make her happy. I want to be the only one who makes her smile. I want her to want me back. I think I might love her. Am I being stupid?"

"You said the same things about Keira, you know that," Kyla mused.

"I know, but this time, it's real. I know it is," Aly sighed and fell backwards onto the bed, "I just want her to feed me chocolate and stroke my hair as we watch Flipped or something, is that too much to ask?"

Kyla remained silent for a while. A look of disappointment flitted across her face at Aly's soliloquy. Her forehead wrinkled and her nose was scrunched up, as they always did while she was deep in thought. Aly couldn't help but smile at how adorable Kyla was. She pursed her lips and finally spoke, "I'll help you win her back."

Aly stared at her.A smile crept across her face as she processed Kyla's statement. _Yes, yes. A thousand times, yes! _Her heart swelled as she looked at her Mighty Mouse, who was so eager to help. She nodded her head and enveloped Kyla in a tight hug, "I love you, Ky."

She felt Kyla bury her head in the crook of her neck, her nose pressed against her shoulder. She felt Kyla's eyelashes brush against her neck.

"I love you too, Alykins."

—

Aly walked into the training gym, her mind dead set on one thing: impressing Aliya Mustafina. _You're Alexandra Raisman. You get shit done. Shit meaning Aliya, who is not so shit. You get her done, yes._

She threw her bag on her team's bench and removed her jacket and track pants, her eyes glued to the Russian on the beam at the other end of the gym. Aliya was the picture of perfection. She wasn't the best gymnast in the room, nor was she the most graceful, but she certainly had the greatest drive. Her determination and ferocity undoubtedly struck fear into the hearts of all the gymnasts in the gym, for she was practising with such concentration and brutality. She had certainly established that she was a force to be reckoned with.

Aly's eyes drifted over to the vault, where the French team was huddled. A head of platinum blond hair held her gaze. _Stupid French 'ho. _She narrowed her eyes at the renowned gymnast and her jaw tightened. Nichole wasn't paying any attention to her coach, rather, she had her eyes glued to the Russian on the beam as well. Aly studied the French girl, who had the same look of concentration on her face. Aly didn't really like the fact that she was concentrating on her girl, but she couldn't blame her. After all, Aliya was beyond perfect. However, Aly knew that she would make Nichole would pay if she ever so much as thought that she could replace Aly in Aliya's heart. _You won't see the light of day again, Girard._

At that moment, she found herself staring into a sea of icy blue. _Shit. _Nichole gave her a devious smirk, before turning her head back to the Russian. _Shit, she saw me staring. _Aly clenched her teeth together and unpacked her bags forcefully, thoughts of Nichole flirting, and heavens forbid, doing _things _with Aliya darted through her head. She clenched her teeth harder with every kiss, pet name, and sickeningly sweet gesture that popped into her head.

Nichole Girard just made her want to impress Aliya more.

Pinning the last lock of hair in place, Aly made her way onto the floor. "Ky, baby, help me stretch out," Aly yelled to Kyla, a little too loudly. Kyla scampered from her coach to Aly. "You're going to help me win Aliya back, right? Well, from my experience, making a girl jealous works wonders. So, put your hands on my back or butt or something, and maybe if you sigh a little it'll work wonders," Aly whispered.

"Aly, are you sure that worked?" Kyla asked, frowning.

"Point is, Ky, just touch me and make sure she looks, okay?" Aly replied briskly, waving Kyla's question off.

She lay down on the floor and signalled for Kyla to pull her left leg over her head. "Okay, maybe brush your fingers against my thigh or something," Aly urged. The tips of Kyla's ears grew bright red and beads of sweat appeared along her hairline. "Aly…" Kyla said through gritted teeth.

Aly glanced back up to the Russian team. Aliya was looking in her direction. Upon realising she had been caught, Aliya looked away quickly, massaging the back of her neck with both hands. Aly looked back up at the French team and saw Nichole staring at her, eyebrows quirked and arms akimbo. She made no effort to hide her bemused expression or even turn away at being caught. Nichole just shook her head amusedly and sauntered away.

_Dammit._

—-

The next afternoon after training at the gym, Aly and her team went to buy some snacks at the vending machine. As luck would have it, the Russian team approached from the gym.

Aly turned to her team and hollered, "Hey, guys, do you know what snacks are the best?"

"What, those that make you shout at us from three inches away?" McKayla scoffed.

"No, something else." Aly looked over at Kyla and motioned to the Russian team by tilting her head.

"Um, Russian snacks?" Kyla suggested.

"Yeah! And do you know which girls are prettiest?" Aly continued, hoping to catch Aliya's attention.

The whole team turned to look at Aly, who seemed to have the stress of the Games finally setting in on her. That was certainly unlike her less noisy, more composed self. Jo had an eyebrow raised, Gabby's eyes were wide, and McKayla was uncharacteristically frowning.

"Um, Russian girls?" Kyla ventured.

"Yeah! Do you know-"

"Aly, for the love of God, shut the hell up!" Jo cried, as she threw her hands up.

The Russian team walked past them, quizzical looks on their faces; all except the one Aliya Mustafina, who had her head bowed down.

_Dammit._

—

That evening, Aly, McKayla and Kyla went to Starbucks to order their usual soy lattes. They walked into the café and saw Aliya and one of her teammates, Ksenia, probably, huddled in the back of the café over their drinks and muffins. Her heart sank the moment she realised that that was where they had sat for their little 'date'.

She strode up to the counter and the barista greeted her with a grin. "Hey, can I get one soy-," Aly paused, remembering what Aliya ordered the last time they were here, "One hot chocolate please."

"No soy latte this time, babe?" McKayla quizzed, bemused.

"No, I've decided to change my order," Aly stated matter-of-factly.

"Oh, no! Don't tell me, did your Russian princess change your taste buds to something a little more Russian?" McKayla teased.

"Mack, that doesn't make any sense," Kyla added.

"I'm pretty sure Russians love their chocolate, gosh. Why'd you change your order, anyway? I thought you would die without your precious soy latte."

"I guess I'd give this a try, since," Aly dropped her voice to a whisper, "Aliya had this the last time."

"Oh my _goodness, _Aly! So, you decided that you liked the taste of hot chocolate on your lips so much, that you give up your soy latte in order to taste your Russian princess? Hot damn, babe, you're whipped," McKayla cried, shaking from laughter.

The handful of customers in the café looked up from their food to shoot the girls a look of attentiveness and irritation. Of course, everyone looked up but Aliya, whose cheeks were glowing red.

Aly bit on the inside of her cheek to stop herself from lashing out at McKayla. Her face prickled with anger and embarrassment, and her fists clenched and unclenched by her sides. She glanced back at the table where Aliya and Ksenia were sitting, only to be met by an open side door and an empty table.

_Dammit._

—

That night, Aly stormed back into her room. She plopped herself down on the chair and got down to what she'd been intending to do. She ignored Jordyn's 'what's wrong, Miss Antsy', she ignored the fact that she was still in her slightly sweaty team jacket, and she ignored the fact that it was way past her bedtime. She pulled a pen from her backpack and snatched some paper from the desk in the room. It's been two days, and she'd had more than enough of Aliya's bullshit.

She scribbled at the paper, making sure to dot her 'i's and full stops hard enough to emphasise her point, and to press her pen down harder to allow her anger to show. She let her tears hit the paper and smudge her words. The words that she was writing on that piece of paper were her feelings poured out and painfully arranged into coherence for the Russian. Aly's heart wrenched with every stroke she penned, and every sentence she ended.

Aly set her pen down and read through the letter again and again. She imagined Aliya reading it, and a small, smug smile crossed her face. It hurt to do this, but she took joy in the fact that she knew it would hurt the Russian, too.

She read through it one last time, before sealing it in the envelope lying on the desk. _No turning back now._

It was way past midnight by the time she was done. She left her room and walked down the corridor, passing room after room before finally arriving at room 151. She pressed the flap of the sealed envelope to her lips as warm tears ran down her cheeks. She bent down and slid it under the door. _No turning back at all._

Aly turned and walked away. Her heart raced as she thought about what she'd written. _No, it had to be done. _She willed herself to stop crying as she recalled the last two words of the letter. By writing those words, she'd given herself reassurance. She'd stood up for herself. She'd turned the tables. She wasn't the pathetic loser who was pushed around and bent backwards by the Russian; she was her own person. It hurt, but she had to do it. She stopped halfway down the corridor to throw room 151 one last, wistful look, as the last two words popped into her head again for the last time –

_Goodbye, Aliya. _


	10. The Letter

Aliya had gone out of her way to avoid Aly, but in a foreign, Western land, how easy was it to keep the girl out of her mind? She found herself reminded of the girl at every turn. The funny muesli bars of different flavours, that coffee place with the strange Star-something name, and even the colour white on the Union Jack reminded her of Aly's soft team jacket. She found her mind linking everything around her to the girl she broke. It was painful, it stung, and it ripped her apart.

She remembered the way Aly's face contorted into a wounded smile the moment she said what she said. She remembered seeing the girl crouch over her knees, rubbing her arms to soothe the pain away. She remembered seeing tears well up in her eyes, sadness and torment written all over her face. She hated the way Aly looked then. She hated her seeing her like that. Most of all, Aliya hated herself for being the cause of that anguish in her. She hated being the heartbreaker, because she knew the full extent of the pain the heartbroken had to endure.

She knew that Aly should not want anything to do with her from now on, and maybe it was for the better. Maybe with Aly far from her reach, she could focus on gymnastics and bagging the gold. Perhaps Aly was a distraction that she needed to get rid of. _Well, good riddance, American._

Alas, she couldn't help but feel empty without her American. There was no reason at all left for her to walk a little slower past the American team's table at breakfast. There wasn't a reason for her to look out for that silly bun in the canteen any longer. There wasn't a reason to look over to the lockers by her team's. Aly was fighting, but Aliya wasn't doing the same. After all, after she'd severed their ties, she had no right to fight so hard for Aly anymore. for her to fight so hard anymore.

_Why did I let her go?_

Aliya slammed her locker shut, much to the annoyance of the Japanese team walking past. She shot them a glare and returned to packing her bag.

_But what about Nichole?_

Aliya knew that she was starting to be attracted to her, too. Funny how she wasn't as cold as she'd expect her to be. Nichole's icy exterior was shed to reveal a much warmer, more _human_ even, interior. She cracked jokes, hushed Aliya's laments, and talked about herself. She was more human than anyone would ever have expected her to be.

Nichole was beautiful, and Aliya felt lucky to be possibly the only person to ever get the chance to dwell in her splendour. Her sharp features, blond hair and petite frame made the skin on Aliya's neck tingle, and her tummy to flip. The way she flipped her hair, raised her left eyebrow and scoffed at everyone infuriated Aliya so, but she couldn't help but feel so attracted to her. Nichole Girard was cold, mean, and ruthless, but Aliya found herself falling harder for the girl with every look.

Aliya had spent her free time in the past couple of days with Nichole. They did stupid, trivial and frivolous things together. They talked about France, Russia, school, friends, parents, and the like. They talked about movies and books, recommended each other songs, and taught each other their languages. They fascinated the other with their country's history, their culture and traditions. When they ran out of things to talk about, they just sat with each other, one hand in the other, enjoying the majesty of London.

Aliya felt so comfortable around Nichole. They felt like long-lost friends, lovers even. They could talk about anything and sit in the most comfortable silences. Nichole Girard wasn't cold, mean, or ruthless. Nichole was like her – afraid, confused, and alone. They found a much-needed sense of familiarity in each other.

Nichole was different from Aly. The American couldn't help but talk about herself. She went on and on about the banal routines in her superficial life. She talked about herself and only herself. Aliya couldn't find quiet in the girl, she just saw a head so cluttered and noisy. She loved listening to Aly, but she couldn't stand how the girl seemed to be unable to shut up for a while. Aly felt the need to fill all their silences with random interjections, and questions about her well-being. Couldn't the American understand that silence is golden? The two of them were on opposite ends of the pole, but perhaps that was what made them clique. Their differences fit together so unexpectedly, but they intertwined so well. The two of their personalities clashed to form one medley of colour and sheer perfection.

Then again, Nichole was different from Aly, because Aliya didn't love her. Yes, Nichole made her heart sing, her knees to go weak, and her tummy to flip. But she didn't have the same effect Aly did. Aly drove her insane, but she made her heart belt sopranos with such gusto, her knees to melt right beneath her, and her tummy to perform triple Arabians.

What Aliya couldn't understand was why. Why was the American the one to have such a jarring effect on her? Surely she didn't think what the two had was_forever_, did she? She wanted to love Aly, yes, but to love her forever? That was a whole other story. Things would change, and they will drift apart, so why not just exist as two separate people now, right?

But Aliya knew that she could not. She wanted Aly in her arms first thing in the morning, and last thing at night. She wanted to see her smile every single day, and be there to dry every tear she shed. She wanted to fight with her, laugh with her, and make love to her. She just wanted Aly and her to exist as one. All Aliya wanted was for Aly to be hers.

Aliya zipped her bag up and slung it over her shoulder. Perhaps some time alone on her laptop would clear her mind.

—

Aliya trudged back into her room and was met with silence. _Bee's probably in the lounge prowling for guys again. _She rolled her eyes at the thought of Maria in the lounge, her legs draped over the side of one arm of a chair, surveying the male swimmers from all over the world. She padded up to her bed and threw her backpack on the floor next to the mirror.

As she reached out for a bottle of water, a white, rectangular envelope on the table caught her eye. _Maybe it's the schedule for next week. _Nonchalantly, she reached her hand out towards it and picked it up. _Strange, it's unopened. _Aliya flipped it over and the text in block letters on the front, written so meticulously, stopped her short.

_ALIYA MUSTAFINA_

She raised both eyebrows and stuck her bottom lip out. Aliya was confused; Mama and Papa could always Skype with her, and her friends back home knew that they could contact her online. This envelope didn't even have an address or a stamp, so it must have been from inside. _How strange indeed._

Curiosity got the better of her and she tore the envelope open, discarding the empty envelope onto the floor. She unfolded the letter, and her heart leapt to her throat. The letter was in English, not Russian. Immediately, she knew whom it was from. Aliya clenched her teeth and swallowed the lump in her throat. _Fuck._

—

_Dearest Aliya,_

_You said you wanted to keep your distance from me, and I will do that. This will be my last means of contact with you, that I can promise you. I am writing this to tell you my side of everything. I know that you will not want to listen to me, and I know that I cannot face you. I guess that this is how I'll have to do it. So please, Aliya, give me this chance._

_Ever since that day, I've just been thinking. I've been thinking and thinking and thinking, and frankly, I don't think I'm quite done. I have so many things I wanted to say, so many ways I wanted to defend myself – defend us, but I couldn't. I didn't say anything because I couldn't. I felt shocked, betrayed, and very angry with you. But what could I do about it?_

_All I could do was watch you. I watched you say that you want to be strictly competitors. I watched you say that it was all enough. I watched you as you broke my heart. But really, I watched you lie. You don't want to be away from me as much as I don't want to be away from you. I watched the colour drain from your face as I stepped back instead of accepting your goodbye. I watched your eyes shift as you told me those things. I watched it all, Aliya. It happened right before me and I know that you hated yourself._

_Of course, I hated you, too. I still hate you now, or at least, that's what I tell myself. You're no good for me. You cause me pain and joy. You make me happy and sad and furious and confused. You make my skin tingle and my tummy to feel all funny. I like the feelings you give me. It makes me feel fresh, alive – me. I haven't felt like that in a long time, and you gave it all to me._

_Then you took it all away. Why? Why the hell would you do something like that to me? What did I do to you? What did I do to deserve this? Please, Aliya. I need an explanation. I need something more than your stupid, cruel, pathetic excuse for an explanation. Stop saving yourself and come save me. I'm hurting. I need you to tell me why. Please._

_When I came to London, I just wanted to focus on gymnastics, but now I don't. I just want to see you. I wake up every morning this past week and all I want is to see you. I want to see you at training and breakfast and dinner. Anywhere, really. I find myself constantly wanting to find you. This is what you've done to me. You've made me unfocussed and lovesick. I feel so disgusted with myself. My need for you makes me sick to my stomach, but shit, it gets me out of bed in the morning._

_I guess now you're not just Aliya, World Champion to me. You're Aliya Mustafina, Russian beauty, a godsend. An imperfectly wonderful godsend. You're a miracle. You make me want to sing, soar and sigh. You hold the key to my heart. If I never get the chance to say this in person, I just want you to know that I love you. I don't know if it's the London fog or the adrenaline, but Aliya, I want you to know that right now, I love you._

_So, I guess this is it. This is all I want to say. I've just poured my sad American heart out to a fucking Russian bitch (I'm sorry). You can go laugh about it with your friends. Chances are, I might laugh at this eventually, too. One day we should meet up and have a hearty good laugh over this letter, huh? Maybe then I can finally see you again. But for now, this is it._

_Goodbye, Aliya._

_Alexandra Raisman_

—-

Aliya looked at the tear-stained letter through clouded eyes. She ran her fingers over the passionate strokes of Aly's pen and imagined the girl crouched over her desk scribbling this letter. She surveyed the penmanship and noted how every 'g' and 'y' had an elaborate curl at the bottom. She reread the words she didn't quite understand. There were three specific words she knew very well, and yet she read them over and over again.

_I love you._

Aliya looked at the letter again, and found herself confused. She was confused as to why the word 'love' had been smudged by a fresh teardrop.

—

In this foreign, Western world, what Aliya knew she needed most was familiarity. She had folded the letter and tucked it into her jacket pocket right by her left breast, close to her heart, and headed out to the minimart downstairs. She strolled down the chocolate aisle, looking for the chocolate that her mother used to give to her whenever she threw a tantrum. She picked up the Milka bar, but set it down again. Instead, she continued to roam the minimart, searching for some comfort food.

Aliya stopped in front of the cereals and huffed. _English speakers and their five hundred thousand types of grain. _She picked up a snack-pack box of cornflakes and shrugged. _This looks safe. _Aliya stepped back and started to turn when she heard a screech and something hard collided against her calf.

She spun around at the sound of uncontrollable giggling and was all ready to give the inconsiderate jerk a piece of her mind when she heard an angry 'Mack!' Aliya first saw a silly bun, then a soft, white team jacket, and finally, a pair of soft, apologetic eyes. At that moment Aliya's heart belted sopranos, her knees melted beneath her, and her tummy performed triple Arabians.

The girl gave a small smile and started to turn around. _Get her._ Suppressing all her pride and summoning all her courage, Aliya blurted, "So, you like cornflakes, too?"


	11. The Bigger Bitch

Sometimes it takes something big to undo all the effort someone has put in. Sometimes it takes something so big to unravel someone to their core and leave them exposed. But sometimes that something doesn't have to be big at all. In fact, that something could be tiny, miniscule, irrelevant, like a secret blurted out, a minor injury, or an unexpected compliment. For Alexandra Raisman, that something was five, very simple words.

_"So, you like cornflakes, too?"_

With that simple, choppy sentence, Aly watched everything fall apart. She watched as the willpower she'd so painstakingly gathered to start distancing herself from Aliya come to nought. She watched as the wall she had put up come crashing down with resonance. She watched herself unravel all over again. Love flooded right back into her at full force, along with an even more powerful rush of anger.

Why couldn't the stupid Russian have just left her alone? She probably read the letter, so why would she even want to make contact with her? Aly didn't understand why Aliya was making the first move, when she had wanted to keep that distance at first. She didn't understand her motives behind it at all. Aliya had _wanted _this, so by initiating conversation, she was being a hypocrite. Besides, why was Aliya completely neglecting the fact that Aly had ended things officially with that letter? That letter symbolised the end of their friendship. No interaction, no laughing, no happiness, basically. Just Mustafina and Raisman, just like the good old days.

_Maybe she's really just a thick-skinned, conniving little fucker. _

Rage oozed from Aly's pores as she widened her eyes at the girl, daring her to say something else. She crossed her arms and cracked her neck, before looking the Russian dead in the eye. Aliya just stood there clutching her stupid box of cornflakes and smiling the sweetest smile Aly had ever seen. Aly's face contorted into one of disgust as she surveyed the girl before her. Never once had she been in charge of the situation, nor had Aliya been the one to look so meek. _Wait, is that how _I_ look at her all the time?_ _Gross. _

Aly caught a fleeting look of anger and impatience on Aliya's face, and sighed at the disappointing lack of improvement in the girl's temper. Aly knew that Aliya had to swallow her pride by the mouthful to say those five words, and Aly was sure as hell about to make her scarf down some humble pie as well.

_Gabby's right, I should give this bitch hell._

"Hey, Aly, it's just breakfast, we haven't even started on our reps yet and you're already sulking? What's the matter, babe?" McKayla quizzed, her mouth full of oatmeal.

"Ice Queen gave you any troubles last night?" Gabby jibed sarcastically.

"No, she's just tired 'cause she was up all night writing a letter to her lover," Jordyn teased, emphasising the last word.

The entire team, spare for Kyla, erupted into laughter as Aly sat sulking at them. She rolled her apple around on the table as McKayla started firing questions at her. Her patience slowly wore thin with every taunt. She remembered the letter she wrote, and imagined Aliya with it in her hands. Knowing the Russian, she would probably wake up and go straight for a run without even noticing the envelope on the floor. If she had read it, would she understand? Would she cry? Or would she just laugh icily at it? Aly gripped the apple hard at the thought of Aliya chuckling at the letter and passing it around to her teammates.

"Shut up, Mack," Kyla warned, and delivered a hard jab into McKayla's ribs.

"Geez, ouch, Ky. I'm sorry, it was all in good fun," her defensive stance soon changed into an offensive one, "What did she do to you? Do I need to take my bazooka out?"

"Was the letter an angry letter? You know, telling her she makes you wet – with tears?" Jo giggled.

Kyla shot her a glare and her giggling came to an abrupt end.

"What's wrong, hon'?" Gabby probed, extending her arm to take Aly's hand in hers.

Aly looked up at her team, whose eyes were fixated on her. That's what she loved about being in the Fierce Five; they were a tight-knit, impenetrable bunch. She sighed, relenting, and told them about her encounter with Aliya, right down to the '_Russia and America_', and '_we have to be like that, enemies_'. Her heart constricted when she told them about how Aliya had so indifferently told her that she had liked Aly, '_but enough_'.

She fought back tears as she recounted the incident, not forgetting to mention the fact that Aliya had made no attempt to let her down slowly, or that the stupid French gymnast had been glued to her hip ever since. She told them about the letter, and how she had angrily dotted her i's and full stops. Then, she told them that she had written those three words; 'I love you'.

"What?!" everyone, including Kyla, yelled.

The surrounding tables turned to stare, and Aly swore she heard some angry chatter in Korean from behind her. Aly pressed her hands to the edge of her face and lowered her voice, "You guys."

"Shit, this reminds me of KS," McKayla muttered.

"You can say her name, Mack," Aly stated, rolling her eyes.

"Okay, then this reminds me of that trifling, idiotic, completely empty-headed, horse-screwing cunt of a buffoon, Keira Simmons," McKayla spat, once again drawing disapproving looks from the tables around them.

"Not like that," Aly chuckled.

It was true, though. Keira Simmons really was a trifling, idiotic, completely empty-headed, horse-screwing cunt of a buffoon. She'd led Aly on for two whole years, leeching off of the attention Aly was so mindlessly giving to her. Aly had been at her beck and call, and waited on her hand and foot. She was twisted around Keira's finger, and was so blindly in love that she hadn't felt any pain.

That was, until she realised that someone as beautiful, talented and independent as Keira would never, ever fall for her. Keira Simmons was self-knowing and intelligent, but also very much in love with somebody else. She was cruel to the bone, and what pained Aly most was the fact that she loved her anyway.

Perhaps Aliya was just like Keira, just shorter and more Russian. Perhaps she was destined to be Aly's first casual fling, one that would rip her to pieces regardless. Perhaps Aliya had planned for this to happen all along just to watch one of her competitors fall to her knees. Perhaps Aly was just a little, replaceable pawn in Aliya's game.

"I never really liked Mustafina anyway, something about these Russians, you know? They're too robotic and they kinda terrify me," McKayla remarked.

"Her name is _Aliya_,and she is notrobotic. She's lovely and wonderful and-," Aly stopped short, "but she's an asshole anyway."

"You know what this stupid Russian needs? Some payback," Gabby leaned in towards her teammates, and her voice dropped to a whisper.

"Ooh, I love it. Maybe we could spike her Gatorade," McKayla schemed.

"Or replace her chalk with baby powder," Jo added.

"Reprint her schedules!"

"Oil the bars!"

"Put roaches in her backpack!"

"Replace her hair glitter with pepper!"

"And _I'm_ the baby of the group," Kyla murmured.

"As tempting as those ideas sound, we can't do that. We have to fight fire with fire," Gabby stated matter-of-factly. "You know what you should do? Be a bitch to her, give her the cold shoulder, shove her off, lie to her. Make her cry then use her tears to condition your hair or something. You always have to have the upper hand, and this way, you will."

"Yeah, be the bigger bitch!" McKayla cheered.

"Are you kidding me? Aly, you can't be serious." Kyla scoffed.

"I don't know how you think of this, Gabby, but dammit, if this is what I have to do then so be it. Be the bigger bitch!" Aly hit the table, and her trademark grin finally graced her face again.

Aliya's grip tightened on the box of cereal, her purple-painted nails digging into the box. Her jaw was tense and her eyes were livid. Other than that, she had the sickliest smile on her face; an insincere performance meant to soften Aly up. Well, Aly was having none of it that day.

"I asked you a question," Aliya managed to force out.

Folding her arms across her chest, Aly gave a taut nod.

Colour rose to Aliya's cheeks, and her jaw tensed further. Her brow began to glisten and a corner of the cereal box she was holding was dented inwards. She cracked the knuckles on her left hand and her smile twisted into a mere quirk of the lip. Aly watched the wheels in Aliya's head turn as she looked for something to say. She revelled in the power she held over the Russian.

"How is training?" Aliya seethed.

Aly shrugged her shoulders.

Aliya took her bottom lip into her mouth and bit down hard. Her skin started to turn red with the pressure she was exerting. Aly licked her lips and directed her attention to the suddenly interesting box of wheat bits on the shelf.

"So, you like London, still?" she croaked.

Aly scoffed and shut her eyes, drawing in a long breath. She blew the air out slowly, making sure Aliya sensed her irritation, before snapping her eyes open. "If you have no reason to talk to me, stop wasting my fucking time."

A loud 'zing!' came from the other aisle (McKayla, probably) and the tips of Aliya's ears turned bright red, anger stark in her hazel eyes. Her smile fell off of her face and made way for a scowl. Fury poured out of her being, and her wrath was evident.

Aly cocked her head to the side and gave a small smile, before turning on her heel.

_You're Alexandra Raisman. You get shit done._

"Aly, can I speak to you, please? In private?" Kyla blurted as the team walked back to their rooms.

McKayla leaned in towards Aly and whispered, "Good luck, babe. She doesn't look too happy. You're on your own. I'll be in my room with the first aid kit." She continued with her journey back and pulled the complaining Jo and Gabby along.

"Aly, what the hell were you thinking?" Kyla cried, throwing her hands up, once the girls were out of earshot.

"What? I got some advice and I followed it."

"Are you freaking mental? If she isn't plotting your murder right now and how to make it look like a suicide, she's probably crying into her pillow, thereafter plotting your suicide-murder."

"Relax, Ky. I'm sure I can handle her, anyway. I mean, check out my guns."

"Stop that, stop flexing. What I'm trying to say is that you want to win her back, right? Not rip her damn heart out and sauté it in her tears. What's gotten into you? The Aly I know wouldn't have done something like this. The Aly I know would've humbly fought for the girl, not destroy her. I may not know much about this love business, but I do know that what you did just kind of sealed your very early death."

"Reverse psychology might work?"

"Stop making excuses for yourself and start doing something about it. I watched you fall apart fighting for Keira because you didn't know what was in store, also because she was a heartless bitch. But here's Aliya, and you know she likes you, too. You know how to play this stupid game of love, so why aren't you using that? Why are you becoming a bitch about the situation? Man up, Aly. Acting like this doesn't make you brave, it makes you a fucking coward."

"Ky, don't say that, and don't swear."

"I can swear damn well as I please! Yeah, she hurt you, but why make things worse by doing the same to her? The letter was enough. Frankly, Aly, I'm disappointed in you. I expected better."

Aly stepped back and gawked at Kyla. _I did not expect that one at all. _She looked at her Mighty Mouse and her heart swelled at the maturity this little sixteen-year-old possessed. She smiled and nodded her head, then took Kyla's hand in hers, "I get it, Ky. Thanks."

The team sat at breakfast the next morning still fussing over Aly's brave, or as Kyla pointed out, cowardly, attack on the Russian the night before. Everyone was bustling over what Aly had, or could have, done. According to McKayla, she could've performed a double layout on the way out simultaneously shouting "Raisman, out!" Or, as Jordyn says, broke open the crust of the Earth and pushed Aliya to her fiery doom while she rose to the gates of heaven. All these suggestions aside, Kyla sat sulking in a corner, and shot glares at the two whenever she could.

"American," came a voice from over her shoulder, a voice that was thickly coated with a French accent. _Are you kidding me? _

Aly spun around to look at the girl before her and beamed at her. "Hello, um, French?"

Before Aly knew it, she felt a firm grip on her arm and nails digging into her skin. She yelped and gaped at Nichole, who was looming above her. "Come," she commanded.

Nichole dragged Aly from her seat and out of the canteen, then spun her around to face her when they were outside. "Um, I don't have my jacket, and it's kinda cold," Aly squeaked.

"Too bad. Listen to me, American, and you damn well listen good. If you so much as lay a finger on Aliya, I will find you and make you pay. She wasn't too pleased with what happened last night, and neither am I. So, you-"

"Wait, wait, wait. So, she sent _you _to talk to me now? What is she, a coward? She actually sent her little French maid after me. Ooh, I'm quaking in my Nike trainers."

"_Ferme la bouche_! What I want to say is that-"

"What the hell did you just say in French? Sorry, don't speak it, _mon amour_."

"You think I'm a joke? This whole thing is a joke to you? Since you're so caught up in your little, tiny head, I'll keep it simple. Aliya hated what you did to her yesterday, in fact, what you did didn't make you look any better at all. If anything, it made me look like a goddess to her. After your stupid performance, she came running to me, crosser than I've ever seen her. You had your chance, American, and you blew it. So, leave her alone, and let me do my work."

"Whoa, what do you mean 'let me do my work'? Don't tell me, you like her too, don't you? Nichole Girard, star gymnast, dreaded by everyone in gymnastics, _in love_? You've actually lowered yourself to the level of mere mortals. How unexpected. I'm impressed actually, that means you're human. Sort of. Well, if that's the case, I'm not letting go easily. It's on, Girard, and I'll get the girl, while you sob into your croissants and baguettes. I'm Alexandra Raisman. I get shit done."

"What is that, your mantra? It's the dumbest one I've heard so far. You're writing your own death wish, because I have Aliya now, and I will crush you if you step out of line. Don't underestimate me, American."

With that, Nichole turned up her nose and strutted away. Aly stared after her petite frame and chuckled. Slowly, the realisation of what she'd just done set in on her, and her laughter stopped short. _Shit._

She looked up at the sound of her name, and saw her team running straight towards her. McKayla reached her first and said, between pants, "I saw everything that happened, but right now, you need to get your ass into the Arena, have you forgotten you're taking part in the Olympics and not a damn soap opera? Mihai's gonna kill you."

Aly woke up with a start the next morning. _All qualifications results are posted today. _She jumped out of bed and ripped the blanket off of a still-snoring Jordyn. "Jo, Jo! The results are out today! They're out, get up!"

Jordyn groggily rubbed at her eyes and glanced at the clock. "Five more minutes, you sleep too, you're up earlier than me. Not normal." Aly huffed and pulled Jordyn out of bed. She ignored her protests, scooped her hair up into a ponytail and slipped into a pair of slippers. Pulling a protesting Jordyn out of bed, she scampered out into the corridor.

There was already a whole swarm of gymnasts and coaches at the notice board. Aly found the rest of her team, said her hellos, and nudged her way to the front of the board. She ran her finger down the all-around finals list.

_Komova_, _Izbasa, Deng, Huang, Douglas. _"Hey, Gabby, you're here!" _Raisman. _"Oh my gosh, so am I!" _Mustafina. Fuck. Girard. Fuck, fuck. _

Aly didn't even look at the other finals list, before stumbling out of the crowd to meet her team. _Fuck. _She widened her eyes at Kyla, and Kyla did the same, as though she knew exactly what Aly meant. Nodding, Aly pushed past everyone and made her way back to the room.

She hadn't even noticed Aliya's sidelong glance at her.


	12. The table

Aliya fell onto the floor of her room and tried to calm herself down. _Focus, now. _She reached up to unzip her team jacket, but discovered it wasn't there._Shit. It's getting too hot._ She closed her eyes and tried to transport herself back to the days where her father would push her on the swings and have her sit on his shoulders. But all she could think about was what happened, her cold fingers, and the restriction in her chest. _What the hell is going on?_

She was running from Nichole, who had been acting strange for the past week. She always sat an inch closer to Aliya, giggled a decibel louder, and urged her to stay an hour longer. The comfortable meetings they shared soon made Aliya incredibly uneasy. It was as though Nichole had evolved into something different, but not necessarily in a good way. Nichole had become a typical teenage girl.

The reason why she was trying so hard to escape on that particular day, was because Nichole had hit an all time strange-high. In fact, she had become so strange, that Aliya was reminded vaguely of Aly. What just happened stirred something in Aliya, and she swore to never befriend her competitors again._Why is this happening?_ Something was going on, and she wasn't quite sure if she was comfortable with it or not just yet.

—

"Aliya!"

Aliya beamed at the sound of her name wrapped beneath a blanket of a French accent. She turned to give her friend a smile, "Hello, Nichole!" Nichole had been acting different the whole week, but Aliya had always just put it off as the stress of the Olympics affecting her a little. Perhaps this was what happened with every competition she was at, and Aliya hadn't known. She didn't mind it much; Nichole seemed to be less snarky towards her and she felt a little more in-charge.

"Aliya, I have something for you," Nichole said as she jogged up to Aliya, smiling. She took Aliya's hand in hers and dragged her towards the stairs.

"Where are you taking me?" Aliya choked out between giggles.

Nichole threw a look that Aliya didn't recognise over her shoulder. It was mischievous, scheming, and very unlike Nichole. Aliya stopped short and pulled Nichole back as well. She narrowed her eyes at Nichole and repeated her question, "Where are you taking me?"

The French girl's features softened and she placed her other hand over Aliya's. "Can you relax for just one day, it's nothing bad!" She tugged at Aliya's hand again and continued on her journey.

Before long, they arrived at room 073. Nichole released Aliya's hand and fumbled for the key. Aliya stood with her hands together, curiously watching Nichole unlock the door. She didn't know what was about to happen, and she didn't have a very good feeling about it, but she watched and waited. Her senses pricked and adrenaline started to course through her veins. It wasn't that she didn't trust the girl, after all, they've gone way past that stage. It was just that she was giving an unnaturally, well, expressive vibe. Aliya could sense her excitement. She had some pink in her pale cheeks, and her hard line of a mouth was quirked into a subconscious half-smile. This was a different Nichole, and Aliya wasn't very comfortable with her.

Nichole finally unlocked the door and signalled for Aliya to go in. That was the first time Aliya had ever been to her room, and she plopped herself on a bed and looked around. "Take your jacket off, I'll be out of the toilet soon." Aliya did as she was told and looked around.

There wasn't anything special about the room. Luggage opened, clothes strewn across the furniture, beds unmade. The room was just like that of every other athlete she knew. She sank her fingers into the bed linen and took in a deep breath. _Oh. _She knew she loved how Nichole smelt, she just didn't know she liked it this much. She lay back down on the bed and closed her eyes; Nichole seemed to be taking a while anyway, and she was sure she was of no harm to her.

The sound of the door clicking caused Aliya's eyes to fly open. She sprang up from the bed and stood with her hands together again. Nichole stepped out in full view and Aliya immediately jumped back. "Der'mo!" she cursed, frantically trying to shield her eyes. Her heart raced and she felt the familiar pull at her stomach at the sight of the girl in just her underwear. _What the fuck is she doing?_

"What is wrong, Aliya?" Nichole cooed as she took a step closer.

"What are you doing?" Aliya cried with her hand plastered over her eyes. _Do not look, do not look._

Nichole pried Aliya's hand away from her eyes and pushed it down firmly._Fucking hell, Girard. _Aliya kept her eyes dutifully trained on the ceiling as she felt Nichole's hands running up her torso and up her neck, finally cupping her face. "Don't tell me that you do not want this?"

Her eyes betrayed her as they flickered down to the girl's chest. _Yes, I do, that's the problem._ Just before she felt that tug at her stomach again, she pushed past the girl and ran out of the room. She ran and ran, and never once looked back at room 073.

—

Aliya stumbled into her room and fell into a heap on the floor. "Whoa, calm down there, darling," Maria laughed, "What's going on with you? Shouldn't you be at the gym? AA finals are in two days, you know."

"Nichole, sh-she," Aliya panted, "No clothes."

Maria closed her book and slinked off of the bed. She knelt beside Aliya and placed her hand on Aliya's head. "Oh." She immediately got up to get a bottle of water from the fridge and handed it to Aliya, before going to the toilet to get a damp towel. She dabbed the towel on Aliya's forehead and urged her to drink some water. She rubbed Aliya's quaking arms and whispered gentle reassurances.

After a while, Aliya's breathing slowed and the colour receded from her cheeks. "Thanks, Bee."

"How long have you gone without a panic attack that you don't know how to help yourself, huh," Maria teased.

Aliya shook her head. Maria's always the one to find humour in a situation that no one ever would. It was true, though, that she'd practically forgotten about what to do in the case of another attack, considering she hadn't had one in years. Luckily for her, Maria's mother suffered occasional bouts, and the routine she did with Aliya was a habit for her. She was grateful for having Maria around to look out for her when no one else could, and her heart brimmed with appreciation for her roommate.

"So, what happened?"

After Aliya explained herself, she watched Maria's face, which hadn't changed since she started telling her story. Maria's look of concentration and care soon morphed into one of bemusement. Her lips quivered before she burst out laughing.

"What's so funny, ass?"

"It's just that if _I _had someone as pretty as Nichole standing in front of me practically naked, I wouldn't run out and have a panic attack."

"Dammit, Bee. It was just like that because it's something I never would've expected. I think she's beautiful too, but she's- was, my friend and she shouldn't have done something like that! She knows I like her, sort of, and she cornered me in her room – I was like an animal in a cage!"

"A sex cage maybe- Oof!"

Maria stopped laughing and tried to push Aliya, who had tackled her mid-sentence, off of her. "I'm sorry, that wasn't funny.

"Look, I don't know if this will make you feel better or worse, but I came back to the room today and found this stuck to the door. It's in English and you know my reading in English isn't good, so here, read it," Maria said, handing a post-it note to Aliya.

She read it and noticed a penmanship so familiar. _Are you kidding me? Give me a break._

_Mustafina:_

_Meet me at the table outside the Village at 10PM sharp._

_- Raisman_

Aliya threw the paper onto the desk and rolled her eyes. She collected her backpack from the floor and turned towards the door, "I need to go practise for now, meet you at dinner, Bee."

—

She looked up at the clock in her room.

_9.50 PM._

Aliya was all dressed up in her jeans and t-shirt, but she sat on the bed looking up at the clock.

Maria broke the silence, "You don't need to see her, you know." Aliya looked at her and, without reacting, looked back up at the clock.

_9.53 PM._

She clasped and unclasped her hands, wrung her fingers around each other and picked at her fingernails.

_9.55 PM._

She heard Maria scratch at the bed sheets and pull at loose threads. She heard the threads snap and fingernails scrape the cotton.

_9.57 PM._

A million thoughts flitted through her head, occasionally landing for a couple of seconds before darting back off again. A million different scenarios played out in her head. Her favourite was the one where Aly ran up to hug her.

_9.59 PM._

Maria fidgeted in her seat, and she heard her take a breath, before closing her mouth again. Aliya closed her eyes, thinking hard and good, and opened them.

_10.02 PM._

Aliya slammed the room door shut. Maria looked up at the clock and smiled.

_10.03 PM._

—

Aliya ran and ran, past stark white doors and down carpeted staircases. The whitewashed walls flashed by her. A smile started to spread across her face when she thought of where she was going and who she was meeting. The thought of Aly running up to hug her, the thought of Aly breathing in her shampoo, the thought of Aly holding her close. The thought that made her smile the biggest was that of her apologising to Aly.

Forgiveness flooded through her, and she laughed aloud at the immaturity of her actions. She knew she wanted the girl, and holding herself back was the stupidest thing she'd ever done. She rehearsed her apology in her head, once, twice, five hundred times, and leaped over the last three steps. She bounded out to the exit of the Village, her leg muscles burning and her lungs begging for air. She didn't care for she knew she was kept breathing because of the girl she was about to meet.

She ran out of the Village and towards the table, which was littered with the flickering lights of candles and decorated with a little vase full of daisies. Someone stood off in a shadowy corner with a violin. Aly stood by the table with her hands and feet together, her hair falling loosely over her shoulders. She was wearing the royal blue dress she wore on the day of the welcoming party. Aliya stopped short. Her hair was all over her face, and her shirt was rumbled by the wind. She was definitely underdressed, but all those worries dissipated the moment she saw a smile spread across Aly's face.

Aliya's beam never faltered once; it didn't even show an inkling of discomfort. It was then that she saw her perfect scenario come to be. She wasn't sure if it was in her head or it was really happening, all she saw was Aly kicking her heels off and running towards her. She forgot about Nichole, the awful letter, the violinist (whom she was pretty sure is Kyla Ross) watching them, or the all-around finals in two days. All she saw was her American girl, running towards her with the dorkiest grin slapped on her face.

She welcomed the girl into her arms and ran her fingers through her hair. A muffled 'You came' escaped Aly's mouth as she nuzzled her nose into Aliya's hair. Aliya couldn't find the words to say, but she thought her stupid, lovesick-teenager smile would suffice. She pulled away, "Aly, I just-"

Aly placed a finger on her lips and motioned for her to sit at the table. Once there, she picked up the bottle of Sportade and quirked an eyebrow, "Drink?"

—

Things were strange at the Olympics. The people there were competitive and occasionally nasty, but they were always human. Whether they acted out due to stress of the games, or simply because that's how they really are, Aliya would never know. She wouldn't know why Nichole did what she did, or why she had suddenly decided to forgive Aly. What she did know was that with that one word, 'Drink?', her dull, rocky exterior came crumbling down again, to allow a burst of colour into her world. She knew she wasn't debilitated, weak, or pathetic; she was happy, important, and so very alive with love. She never thought she'd feel this way about something like that, but boy, did it feel bloody amazing.


	13. The Date

If Girard wanted war, it was war she'd get. Raismans never backed down from challenges; they always fought head-on and, more often than not, won. Alexandra Raisman was going to win her girl. No dirty tricks, no bribery, just good old-fashioned charm and chivalry. The Russian might choose her little French maid over her, but Aly can't say that she didn't try – and try her absolute hardest she will.

Aly was going to give this war her all. She was going to unload her ammunition of compliments and infallible appeal for this, and the French girl's challenge was a spell for a nuclear war of love. After all, spare for Keira Simmons, Aly had a near-perfect streak in her little love battles, and she wasn't going to let Aliya become another Keira in her life.

She sat her team down for a meeting after the release of the finalists for the Olympics. "Okay, guys. Basically, Girard likes Aliya, too, and she has a much better chance of getting together with her since, well, I made some bad decisions."

"Horrible decisions," Kyla muttered.

"Wait, I thought you wanted to make that bitch pay?" Gabby mused.

"I know, I know. I did, but right now, I don't."

"Honey, don't take this the wrong way or anything, but doesn't it seem like you're only doing this because Nichole likes her too? I mean, it's as though she's a trophy to add to your case," Jordyn said nervously.

"Jo does make a good point, doesn't she? Maybe Aliya will like you again if you hadn't treated her like shit and maybe, just maybe, had been a little more mature about the situation. You _know_ that no one likes to be treated like an object. I mean, remember how KS wrapped you around her finger and kept you there like a prize?" Kyla added.

Gabby and McKayla murmured words of agreement.

"Look, I know I screwed up, okay? I want to make things better for the two of us. I did a horrible, horrible thing, something that no one should ever have done to them, but what do you want me to do about it? Keep moping and feeling sorry for the both of us? I'm not a pussy. I'm going to meet this problem head-on, not by being a bitch, but by being human. I'm going to apologise, and make her feel special and needed, because that's how she deserves to be treated. She's deserved that from the very beginning, and I completely regret not giving that to her. Now I know where I've gone wrong, so I'm going to right this terrible wrong and make things good again. If she doesn't take me back, fine. I'll walk away, but at least I'd have done the grown-up thing by admitting I'm wrong and giving her what she deserves. Are we clear about that?" Aly rambled, her words spilling out and her cheeks reddening.

The entire team sat silent, all at a loss for words. Jordyn and McKayla sat completely silent for the first time, eyes trained on Aly. Gabby studied her chipping nail polish with unusual concentration. Kyla had a small smile on her face. Nodding her head, Kyla spoke, "So, what do you want us to do, boss?"

—

Aly stood by their table in her dress and heels, ignoring the chilly wind biting at her shoulders. She'd specifically chosen this blue dress out of the three that she'd brought, since it was the dress she wore on the day they had their first proper conversation.

.She glanced over at Kyla with the violin she had borrowed from the lobby. She gave Aly a reassuring smile. Gabby and Jordyn were waiting on the roof of the Village. McKayla stood behind a bush further back, peering over the leaves excitedly. She had brought a bottle of wine she nicked from the kitchen in case Aliya hadn't show up. In front of her, the table sported the cliché candles and flowers, with a bottle of Sportade in the middle. Aly turned back towards the Village door and exhaled nervously held a long breath. She checked her watch. _10.03 PM._ Her eyes started to sting as she imagined Aliya crushing the post-it she'd stuck on the door of room 151 to a tiny yellow ball and throwing it into the bin.

_No, she wouldn't._

Aly brought her wrist up to chest-level again. _10.04 PM. _She turned back towards her team, worry written into every line on her face. She chewed on her bottom lip and looked to Kyla for reassurance. Just then, Kyla picked the violin up and started to play '_Bella Notte_'.

Aly spun back to the door to see Aliya racing across the open space towards their table, the widest grin she'd ever grinned plastered on her face. She was wearing a rumpled shirt and a pair of jeans, but Aly didn't care, all she saw was the girl she'd been waiting so patiently for. She looked at her watch again._10.05 PM._ She kicked her heels off and started towards the girl, unable to wait for Aliya to make the journey towards her alone. She met her halfway and swooped her into her arms, tears falling down her cheeks as she whispered 'you came' again and again into her hair.

—

"So, what did you plan for us this night?" Aliya asked, running her fingers along the rim of her cup of Sportade.

"Nothing much, just something that I thought you deserve."

"Oh? Trolley to my legs?"

Aly shifted in her seat uncomfortably.

"No, you deserve something nice."

"Do I? Not what you told me last time."

"Aliya, please," she took Aliya's hand in hers, "Just give me this one night. If you don't like it, it's okay. But for now, please, trust me."

She gripped on to Aliya's hand and led her to the back of the Village. She shimmied past some potted plants and shone her phone's light along the wall. Seeing the fire escape ladder, she turned to Aliya, "C'mon."

"Aly… I don't think this is too clever," Aliya replied hesitantly.

Aly was already on the third rung of the ladder when she turned back to Aliya. She stretched her hand out and smiled a soft smile, "Trust me."

—

Upon clambering over the wall and stumbling onto the roof, Aliya slapped her hands over her mouth and gasped. She had to blink back tears as she took an uncertain step forward. She took every detail in and tried to beam despite her misty vision. Aly stood in front of her and pulled her hands down gently. "It's not much, but I figured that this was the best I could do." Rubbing her neck, she blushed, "I hope you like what we put together for you."

At the far end of the roof, two blankets were layered on top of each other and four pillows lined one end. Facing the makeshift bed, a thin white blanket was stretched between two metal poles. A portable projector was mounted on one of the cement cylinders on the roof, and was connected to Jordyn's laptop. In the middle of the roof was a sheet draped over another cement cylinder, with two baskets of fish and chips (from _Something Smells Fishy 'N Chippy_ across the road), two cups of Sportade and two little stools on either side. Jordyn and Gabby stood by the 'table' – Jordyn with a bottle of Sportade and Gabby with her portable speakers and iPhone. Fairy lights were laid along the edges of the roof, and Frank Sinatra's soothing voice escaped the speakers and filled the air.

"Like I said, it's not much," Aly blurted.

"Oh, Aly, this is beautiful," Aliya managed to gasp out.

They took their seats by the 'table', and started to eat their food. Jordyn stooped to refill Aly's cup, and whispered, "Man, I never thought she'd fall for this sort of cliché crap. Not bad, babe."

—

They lay in their makeshift bed to watch the movie that Jordyn had picked out for them. Fittingly, Lady And The Tramp started to play. "So, um, you kids have fun, okay? We're gonna go now, just ring us if you need anything. We'll be back at six to wake you up, just in case," Gabby called from the ladder.

"Remember to practise safe se- Ouch!" Jordyn cried, before cursing Gabby to a lifetime without chocolate pudding.

A little into the movie, Aliya spoke, "Why did you do this?"

"I told you, you deserve to be treated like this, and I thought, 'Why don't I do it?' you know?"

"Why now? Why I deserve this?"

"If this is the last day I ever get, I don't want regret. I want you. I want you today, tomorrow, on the closing ceremony, in five years, in fifty years. You deserve this because I want to give you one reason to smile for the thousands you've given me. This is the least I can do for you, Aliya. You showed me a pain like no one had, but made me better than anyone had ever done as well. Honestly, I believe I need you."

Aliya looked down at her fingers, deep in thought. She thought about the consequences of their potential relationship, the complications that may arise, and the inevitable distance between them once they left London. She thought about the other people in her life and how they would serve as friction between them. She thought about her disappointed father and her sobbing mother. She thought about Aleksandr yelling at her for being unfocussed. She thought about her teammates brushing her off for the Olympic medals she'd cost them.

She looked back up at the warmest pair of eyes she'd ever seen and suddenly, it hit her.

Thoughts of Aly's face in the morning sun, her dropping pots and pans onto the floor, her buttoning up her work shirt and her warm eyes before bed filled her head. She thought of hanging a framed collage of their pictures together, arguing over whose turn it was to turn off the lights at night, taking their dog down, and shopping for furniture. She thought of brushing Aly's hair while she lay asleep in front of an ongoing movie. She thought of having dinner in a nice restaurant on one of their date nights. She thought of her playing the piano while Aly sat reading on her favourite chair. She thought of those things and more, and smiled at Aly, before nestling her head in the crook of her shoulder. Aly kissed the top of her head and smoothed her hair, barely hearing her whispered, "Me too."


	14. The Parents

Aly woke to a start at the sharp beep of her watch. _5.45 AM. _She groaned. She had dreamt the sweetest dream the previous night; one filled of laughter and smiles, not from her, but from someone who gives her the reason to – Aliya Mustafina. She groaned again at the fact that it was a mere dream.

As her eyes adjusted to her surroundings, she realised that she wasn't laying in her white bed, nor was she in room 132. She tried to sit up, but realised that there was something pressing her back to the bed. She drew her face closer to her neck and looked down. _Holy hell._

On her chest lay a head of soft, brown hair that was rising and falling in rhythm with her breath. Across her belly stretched a fair, firm arm. Aly held her breath to listen to the girl's. Deciding she was alive and very real, Aly sank further into her pillow with a daft smile. _Stupid girl, only you can me look like a damned fool and smile this smile._

She remembered the first time her mother had caught her with another girl in the exact same position as she was in now.

"Hello gi- Oh. Hello, Alexandra, Cora." She then retreated as quietly as she approached. Aly knew her mother still wished to pursue the topic the moment she used 'Alexandra' instead of just 'Aly'. Ushering her 'friend' out of the house, she paced her room and thought about how to deal with the situation. She never anticipated for something like this to ever happen to her. She always locked the door and made sure her mum was out before having any girls over. That time, she'd miscalculated. It wasn't a very smart move to say the least.

She thought of ways she could defend herself. She couldn't say 'Mum, she's just a friend', because honestly, who lies in bed with a friend like that and in nothing more than their underwear? 'Mum, this is a social experiment' sounded stupid even in her head. After a while, the facts hit her. She couldn't say anything at all. She just had to accept whatever came.

A thought had come to Aly. Her mother could never bear to kick her star athlete daughter out over something as trivial as that. How could her mother walk out and face her neighbours, friends, and relatives? Besides, Aly lived the life that her mother wished she did. She was a world-class gymnast with plenty of guys and girls falling at her feet. She didn't have stellar grades, but she definitely had a number of other achievements to make up for it. Having been nudged out from the national gymnastics team by a hair, Mrs Raisman had a bitter seed in her that she tried to get rid of through her daughter.

Armed with that knowledge, Aly walked into the den with a conviction that had surprised even her.

"Mum, before you say anything, I-"

"No, before _you _say anything, I have something to say."

Her mother had always been pushy and demanding, but Aly had never heard that much concern in her voice. Since that day, she never has again.

"I know what's happening, don't make excuses," she had said, "I want you to know that I have no issue with who you choose to be, because no matter what, you're still my precious Rose. I still love you. Also, you made a good choice with that Cora, she's a nice girl. Sweetheart, if you need anything, anything at all, I want you to tell me, and I'll try to get it done within the best of my ability, okay?"

Then, Aly had done the stupid thing of asking what 'anything' meant.

"Oh, I know how you… Girls do _it_ with each other, and I also know you're not old enough to go into one of those shops, so I th-"

Aly had cut her off there with a flip of her hand and an embarrassed 'Mum!'. She gave her mother a hug and a 'thanks, mum, I love you' and that was that. Neither of them brought it up again, and her mother returned to pushing her.

Aly wasn't sure if that was what she wanted.

—

Aliya stirred awake at the sound of a loud and fast thumping in her ears. She opened her eyes to discover that her head was still on Aly's chest as it was the night before. The loud and fast thumping just happened to be Aly's heart. _God knows what that girl is thinking about. _She rubbed her hand on Aly's belly and smiled up at her.

"Good morning, starshine. The earth says hello."

"Why would the earth say hello?"

Aly paused to think.

"I have no idea actually, that was a quote."

"Whoever thought of that quote is a dumb fuck."

Aly had taught her that insult.

"Geez, someone's a little cranky in the morning. I thought you Russians were like these emotionless fembots, waking up early and strapping on your running shoes to start exercising without a second thought. You guys are terrifying. Cranky Aliya's a little terrifying too, I'd rather have you emotionless."

"How do you think we manage to stay in such good shape? Russian government created a group of robots to bring sports up in Russia. I actually have a computer code that makes me _kill _my competitors. That is you, Raisman. Too bad I've fallen in love with your stupid face and I can't bring myself to."

"'Tis the problem with the plague of love. It breeds sickness in heart and mind, and apparently, computer codes. It could also be because I'm simply too gorgeous to kill."

"You make me want to kill you now."

"Ivan the Terrible, Aliya the fembot. There is no difference."

Aliya smacked Aly's rib.

"Shut up."

The two girls settled into a long silence.

"Alexandra, when I said I fell in love with your face," Aliya started, "it's just your face. You know that, right?"

A silence descended upon them once more.

"Yeah, I know."

Aliya buried her face into Aly's dress and rubbed circles on her belly. She knew she couldn't pursue this relationship, no matter how much she knew she really loved Aly and her face. Her parents wouldn't approve.

The day Aliya discovered she preferred girls to boys was when both her and Maria had taken a shower together after training. 'We're just friends, Aliya, don't be so shy,' Bee had said. At that point, Aliya had just started the relationship that broke her. Throughout the shower, she found her eyes wandering down to Maria's behind as water and soap trickled down. Each time, she had caught herself and snapped her eyes up, but that never stopped her from doing it again and again.

From that point, Aliya found herself ogling Vika's abs through her leotard, Ksenia's fingers drawing graceful patterns during her floor exercise and Maria's bum in her tight training briefs. When she took walks in the city square, she would look at girls' chests unknowingly, pulling together a shabby excuse of 'oh, nice shirt' whenever she got caught. At first, she felt disgusted with herself for looking at girls as pieces of meat. That was until she found herself staring at one girl for a much longer time than the others, not as a piece of meat, but a delectable human being nonetheless.

That girl was Ivana Alexandrov, her coach's niece. She would drop by during training occasionally to pass her uncle some titbits her mum had baked. She had a blond pixie cut and emerald-green eyes. Although she was barely taller than Aliya, her strong figure walked with the same confidence Aliya saw in no one other than herself. The number of times Aliya seethed every time she placed her heart-shaped lips on Aleksandr's rosy cheek was far too large. Ivana's cold, green gaze was evened out by her warm, toothy grin that appeared every time one of the girls cracked a joke. Of course, Aliya always stood on the outskirts of their circle smiling along lest she say something she might regret.

At that point, Ivana had a girlfriend who would drop her off at Round Lake at times. However, Aliya never missed a single lingering gaze Ivana sneaked in her direction. She figured that if her boyfriend and Ivana's very strong-looking girlfriend didn't know that she was interested in her, she wouldn't be in any trouble. So, she kept her crush a secret.

Of course, she remembered the day that her parents' stance on sexuality came to light. It happened during one dinner after Aliya's father bumped into Ivana in town.

"That girl," he boomed, "should be more lady-like. With her boy haircut and boy clothes, how is she going to find a good husband? I don't even know if I should call her a boy or girl. No assets, no class, no elegance. Why does her family even bother with her?"

Aliya hadn't said anything; she'd just gripped her fork and knife a little harder than usual.

"Darling, maybe she's just going through a phase," her mother had offered.

"So what? Fondling girls and not going on dates with boys isn't a phase, it's a way of life that should be eradicated from our society. It's these people that are the problem with the world - robbers, murderers, the Americans and gays. These youngsters and their newer westernised minds. Sickening."

He then went on talking about something to do with how movies are turning youngsters' brains into mash, and theorised that 'that lesbian TV person Ellen and that singer Alvin John' were starting a gay revolution.

Aliya had just pushed the food around her plate, and swallowed her retorts.

—

The next morning started fairly well for Aliya. After nodding a hello to Aly at the canteen and receiving a wink in return, she started her morning routine. She could hardly eat her breakfast and she only did so to calm the butterflies in her tummy. That day was the day of the all-around finals, and Aliya had to put whatever thought of Aly out of her head if she wanted to bag the gold.

Aliya knew that she should be placing her love for Aly far before her desire to win, but she couldn't possibly change that bit about her. She's been brought up with the thought 'winning is everything' inside of her head. Her athlete father had drilled that mentality into her head.

She knew that she should not let that affect her love for Aly, but it has. So that afternoon until five o' clock, they were once again America and Russia, Raisman and Mustafina. With her mind properly psyched and her blue leotard on, Aliya grabbed Viktoria's hand and the two lined up to go into the Arena.

In the line-up, Aliya felt a tap on her arm and heard a 'Mustafina' with a familiar French twang. She tried to shut it out at first, but received a tap again, and then another. It's as though the girl wouldn't give up. She took ten deep breaths before turning to face those icy blue eyes she'd admittedly missed a little.

"Yes, Girard."

"I need to talk to you."

"Now? Just before we go into the Arena?"

Aliya ventured a glance at Aly who was standing in front of Viktoria.

"Yes, now."

"Can you not wait?"

"No, I cannot. Look, I've been thinking about what I did on that day, and I'm really sorry for that. I didn't mean for you to run off like that, I thought you would, I don't know, appreciate the gesture?"

The line started to move and Aliya started to get angry.

"Appreciate the gesture?"

"For God's sake, Aliya, don't be angry. It's not good for competition. Anyway, as I was-"

"Now you're telling me that anger is not good for competition?"

"Just listen, okay? I just wanted to say I'm sorry, and that what happened wasn't intended. I thought you felt the same for me."

"So you decided to strip naked and-"

"_Nearly _naked."

"Okay, _nearly _naked and give me a panic attack."

"It's just a panic attack, Aliya. You're fine now, aren't you?"

_What the fuck?_

Her anger rose tenfold at Nichole's words and she made a sudden turn in Nichole's direction.

"You take me for a joke? What you did was a fucking sex crime!"

The line had stopped moving abruptly and everyone had turned to look at Aliya and Nichole. Aly had her usual curious puppy look and Vika looked nothing short of concerned. The other competitors stood wide-eyed in shock. Aliya didn't want this sort of attention on the day of her big competition. She wanted lights flashing in her direction while she stood on the podium with a gold medal around her neck, not because she swore and accused a fellow athlete for committing a sex crime. She spun back towards the front and took deep breaths. It was to be an incredibly long day.

—

Aly had left the Arena with nothing but measly fourth place. Upon the announcement of the results, she bit her tongue and held back hot, angry tears. Of course, Gabby had clinched the gold, and she was definitely going to return to the USA with nothing but praises to her name. Aly, on the other hand, was going to return forgotten.

To make matters worse, the person who had barely nudged her out of the standings was her Russian beauty. Honestly, she felt raw and betrayed, but when she saw that Aliya couldn't even celebrate her bronze medal because of her teammate's hairline loss and thus, slight breakdown, she felt more for Aliya than herself.

After all, Aliya had fought harder than any athlete she'd seen. Her bronze medal was initially thought unattainable for someone who had suffered such a drastic injury barely two years before. Now that it was her time to shine, she couldn't even enjoy being in the spotlight and it broke Aly's heart. Aliya stood by a weeping Viktoria and uttered what Aly assumed were either encouragements or death threats in her ear. Deciding that what her girl needed was a little pick-me-up, Aly did the unthinkable.

"Hey, Aliya, Viktoria," she said hesitantly, knowing that Viktoria was in a fragile state.

"Hi, Alexandra," Aliya replied with a suppressed smile. Viktoria just nodded and tried to shield her wet eyes.

"Congrats on your bronze! And your silver, Viktoria!"

Viktoria's quiet sobs turned into loud whimpers. Aliya widened her eyes to signal to Aly to stop talking.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean- Look, it hasn't been a very good day for a lot of us. Why don't we all go out for dinner tonight? Team Russia and USA? I mean, it would be fun, and it would cheer us all up! I'm sure my girls won't mind, what about you guys?"

Viktoria looked up at Aly as though she had started speaking in Japanese. Aliya gave a surprised smile. She knew Aly liked to take the initiative to do things, but something like this?

"Sounds… Good, Raisman. We see all at the restaurant at the basement, the, uh, the Food For Olympians? At 8?"

Viktoria's head snapped towards Aliya with an open-mouthed stare she didn't bother hiding.

"Aliya…" she choked out through gritted teeth.

Aliya whispered something in Russian to Viktoria and gave her a reassuring smile. Viktoria looked up at Aly with a suspicious gaze, "Okay. See you tonight, Raisman. No funny business."

Aly grabbed Aliya's hand as she started to walk away and pulled her in for a hug. "Great job today, sweetheart. I missed you, and I can't wait to see you tonight. Do me a favour and wear _nothing_ but your dress."

Aliya pulled away from the embrace and stared at Aly. She had the look that Aliya had only seen that day Aly'd pounced on her in the locker room. Aliya kissed the side of Aly's head.

"Okay, _sweetheart_."


End file.
